Into the Arms of Forever
by Miss Kristin of the Shire
Summary: A sequel to "The Weary Trail of Deathless Days," this is the story of Frodo and Sam's life together in the Undying Lands after Bilbo's passing.
1. Chapter 1

Frodo remotely perceived, as though on the periphery of hearing, the sound of soft footfalls padding across the carpeted floor. With his head nestled in the plush eiderdown pillows and his bare skin robed in the milky silk of the rippling coverlets, he could not exhort himself to move from his position or bring himself fully to consciousness. The outside world seemed a separate entity altogether, something that existed quite apart from the slow intermingling of his dreams and his hushed, though gradually wakening, senses. His body moulded to the cushioned planes of the mattress in such a way that the two seemed inextricably bonded together, as though there was no telling where the one ended and the other began. Then, a slender filament of light sifted through the thin membrane of his closed eyelids and spread outward like an overturned bottle of golden ink that had fallen across a sheet of parchment. His eyes were reluctant to unveil themselves before such startling incandescence, and he swam languidly behind the rosy shade of his still-closed lids. But before he was given the opportunity to drift back into the quiet valley of slumber, a voice greeted him sunnily.

"Good mornin', Mr. Frodo!"

A smile crept across Frodo's face. There was no gainsaying that voice. Sleep, though splendid in its rightful measure, had no power over the affectionate irresistibility of a morning call from his Sam. Indeed, it was as though every fiber of his living self was attuned to the owner of the voice that stirred him thus, that his soul leapt like a flame newly-stoked and his body seemed to hum with energy borrowed from his friend's cheerful welcome. For truly, Sam's finger rested gently upon the harp-string of Frodo's spirit, and it was he alone that could set it to singing.

Frodo could not help but think of the way that he had woken Bilbo in much the same fashion not so long ago, and wondered if his voice had had a similar galvanizing effect on his uncle as well, if he had succeeded in communicating such open-hearted enthusiasm for the birth of another morning.

At last, his feathery eyelashes opened like the petals of a budding flower and he raised himself up by the elbows into a sitting position.

"Good morning, Mr. Gamgee – Mr. Gardner I should say," Frodo returned. "It seems that you have beaten me to it again! One of these days it will be _I_ who wakes _you_ up for a change."

"Is that right? Well, begging your pardon, but I won't go holding my breath on that one," Sam answered teasingly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth as the room grew several degrees brighter with his smile.

Frodo laughed aloud, reclining back on his pillow. He was struck once again by the uncanny cyclical pattern of life, of how effortlessly he and Sam had fallen into the selfsame customs that he and Bilbo had once practiced, though Sam himself could hardly have known it. There was something infinitely reassuring about the well-worn circularity of existence, he thought. It was much like the seasonal ploughing of a rich, fertile field for the harvesting of a fresh yield of crops: the furrows of overturned earth were well-defined, serving as a guideline for the reaping of new growth for future generations. He and Bilbo had certainly done an efficient job of turning that soil in their long years together, and now he and Sam were planting the seeds for the coming season.

A fleeting sensation of melancholy skittered across him as he thought back on all the time that he had spent with his uncle. Bilbo had always been a larger-than-life figure for Frodo since his earliest days, and if he had played an integral role in shaping his character during the formative years of his life, it seemed that his uncle had become the very axis on which his life spun once the two had bid farewell to Middle-earth forever. Frodo and Bilbo were virtually inseparable, keeping mostly to their beautiful sea-banked home in Tol Eressëa, especially as Bilbo's advancing years made traveling the island for long stretches rather difficult. But they would often sit at meal-times on the sunlit verandah and bask in the sweetness of the wholesome air, gazing outward in silent awe at the unfading evergreens and the undulating Sea, or listen with avid ears to the singing of the Elves at twilight when the first stars peeped out of the velvet sky. The time that Frodo had spent with Bilbo was incalculably precious, and he would never allow himself to forget it.

Then he looked at Sam and his heart was uplifted to its former state of content. It never ceased to amaze Frodo how easily they had reverted back into their old ways with one another, as though no time at all had elapsed since the days when Frodo was the master of Bag End and Sam, his dutiful gardener – and how well that occupation had suited him! For just as Sam's hands had given life to many green and growing things, so too had he tended to Frodo's declining spirit and restored it to vibrancy with his arrival to the Undying Lands. There was no denying that in the days following Bilbo's death, Frodo had languished in the darkness of grief unmitigated and loneliness unendurable. If Sam had not come when he did…

_I would not be here today_, Frodo thought soberly. It had taken the care and tender nurturing of his greatest friend to revive Frodo from the profoundest depths of despondency, but he had succeeded.

_Just as he always has_, Frodo mused. He only hoped that Sam had benefited as much from their reunification as he had, although he doubted that even he could have matched the efforts that Sam had put forth.

Then again, the Blessed Realm had, by all outward indications, done wonders for him as he transitioned into this new stage of his life. The freshly inflicted marks of care, the eyes that glistened without provocation, the slight downward turning of his mouth – in short, all the telltale signs of a heart in mourning – had been remedied with astonishing completeness. He looked as close to the Samwise Gamgee that he had known in a previous lifetime as he possibly could have at the substantial age of 104. Where the healing process had been slow to take effect for Frodo like the gradual eroding of rock exposed to the elements, it had been as instantaneous and easy as subjecting the downy seeds of a dandelion to a healthy gust of air for Sam.

_But then, Sam has always been especially receptive to the magic of the Elves_, Frodo reminded himself.

Not that Sam's memories of Rose or his enduring fondness for the Shire had been in any way diluted as a result of his tenancy on the Western shores. Frodo knew that she and the children occupied Sam's thoughts continually, for it was seldom that a day went by where Sam did not make mention of one or more of Rose's unimpeachable virtues (and they were many) or swell with involuntary pride as he offered up some fatherly (or grandfatherly) anecdote. He'd drop such tidbits like: "My Rose, she had the patience of a saint and the heart of a warrior. Just as sweet as any hobbit maiden that ever was but tough as the hide of an oliphaunt!" or "Now my Frodo-lad, he's as like to his old Da as ever a son was to a father," or "Ellie – meaning Elanor, who you'll remember, Mr. Frodo – is the very picture of beauty. Aye, there never was a more beautiful hobbit that was ever born to this world, excepting her sisters accourse, and don't think I let young Fastred forget it for a moment!"

He had also taken particular delight in the fact that the branches of his and Frodo's family trees had finally been intertwined through the marriage of his daughter Goldilocks to Pippin's son, Faramir. "Now we're all part of one big clan, it seems," he had said, "though I'd felt that we were just as close as family for a long time anyway, but this makes it official!"

Frodo had not detected any remnant of undue sorrow in Sam's fond recollections, no off-key notes of internal distress mingled with the sweet symphony of remembrance, and he was comforted in mind. There seemed to be little question that Sam had responded powerfully to the wondrous healing properties of Aman and would make as full a recovery as could be hoped. That was what mattered to Frodo most.

Frodo turned his attention back to the present, addressing Sam's earlier gibe.

"I suppose that that is your way of telling me to drag my lazy bones out of bed – and you are quite right! It would be a shame to miss out on such a fine morning as this, not to mention the lasting regret I should feel if I were to be late for a home-cooked meal prepared by the hands of the incomparable Mr. Gardner," said Frodo pertly. "Unless I am very much mistaken, I do believe that that delightful aroma is the scent of cooked bacon."

"Right you are, sir; and not just bacon, but I've also put out fresh eggs, sausages, some toast with that strawberry jam you like so much, I've got fried taters, cooked mushrooms…"

"Stop! Stop! You have more than convinced me!" Frodo cried with a jovial laugh. "I am up, Sam – lead the way!"

Having put away as much of Sam's prodigious breakfast as they could stomach – and that was no small amount – the two hobbits sat together in companionable silence, scarcely able to budge.

"Dear me, Sam, I am afraid that you have spoiled me shamefully since you arrived," Frodo said at length. "I had thought myself something of a cook, but you have put me in my right place. In that, you have me soundly beaten. Gladly do I admit defeat," he said, bowing his head with exaggerated deference.

"I can't go taking all the credit, for I picked up a thing or two from my dear Rose, you know. But thank'ee kindly for the compliment all the same; I reckon this old hobbit's still got a trick or two up his sleeves," Sam answered, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Indeed! I daresay your culinary skills could rival even the magic of the Elves," Frodo rejoined without irony, for it seemed to him that Sam's proficiency before a stove-top was not of this earth. Sam's eyes widened and he straightened suddenly in his chair.

"Now, Mr. Frodo, there you've gone too far! A nicely fixed table is all good and well, but even the best of foods don't hold up against Elf-magic, not by a long ways," Sam spluttered. If there was one thing that Sam took deadly serious, it was the surpassing glory of the Elves.

"My dear Sam, humble as ever! I did not mean to make light of the abilities of our Elf friends, though I spoke the words in all sincerity. But never you mind, it is enough to say that you are blessed with many gifts, and cooking not the least of them." Sam relaxed noticeably and furnished Frodo with a relieved smile. "Indeed, it is these remarkable gifts of yours that have made these recent days so fulfilling. I did not think that I should be able to come back from Bilbo's passing, and yet, here I sit, as glad and as light as can be. I doubt very much that I should have ever recovered if you had not arrived when you did, Sam. It will be a year tomorrow since Bilbo was laid to rest."

Although Frodo had no definite way of keeping track of calendar days, the charting of time being nearly impossible and somewhat unnecessary on the Blessed Isle, he had sensed the approaching of the solemn date as though by some heightened instinct. He could not have said _how_ he had known it exactly, he simply knew it with a certainty that was absolute and incontestable. How does the migratory bird know when the time has come to seek out warmer climes? How does the perennial know to send forth a new scion when the bitter chill of winter has ended? It is a knowledge that is encoded into the very cells of all living things, and it was this knowledge that informed Frodo's declaration to Sam.

"A whole year already? Poor old Bilbo – if only I'd-a gotten here sooner. I should have dearly liked to see him again one last time," said Sam sadly.

"And he should have been glad to see you, Sam. Alas, it was not meant to be. But do not be too sorry, for his years far outnumbered those of any hobbit in all of history, and he left by his own choice, in sound mind and with willing heart."

"It does my heart good to know it, sir. I guess even a place as grand as the Undying Lands has a way of losing its sparkle after a time, though I must say it's hard to imagine it, seeing as how new-arrived I am and all," Sam replied.

"I do not think that Bilbo wearied of our location, for the beauty of this land is unfading and never grows dim. Rather, I think he felt that he had taken his full measure of satisfaction, that he could not go on forever heaping such bountiful rewards to himself. It will seem clearer to us both one day I am sure. But for now, I agree with you; it _is_ difficult to imagine tiring of this magnificent country – and you needn't try, for there is still much time before us to enjoy it."

"I hope so. And I think I do understand better'n before now I've heard you explain it – Bilbo's reasons for going, that is. In a way, it reminds me of my Rose, toward the end. She seemed so peaceful in those last days, so _ready_ somehow. Like she knew that she'd done all she needed to do, that the children were old enough to look after themselves and each other, and that I…" he paused, dabbing at his eyes with a napkin as his voice caught in his throat. "That if things got too hard, I still had you to come home to," he finished, his voice tapering to a whisper.

Frodo took Sam by the hand and held it until the sadness had passed. When at last, Sam exhaled with a cathartic breath on which all his cares seemed to be borne and carried away into the vastness of space, Frodo spoke.

"And so you did. You _are_ home, Sam. And as long as you are here with me, I am home also."

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo. You don't know what it means to hear you say that. But here now, enough of my blubbering," he said resolutely, gathering himself up again, "we ought to do something special to remember Mr. Bilbo tomorrow. I was thinking I could gather up some flowers from the garden and arrange 'em real nice and lay them by his resting place."

"That is a lovely thought, Sam. However, Bilbo rests in Valinor, and we may not pass into that city save by the permission of the Valar themselves. But I am sure we will think of some other way to honour him," Frodo said, a twinge of despondency creeping its way into his voice. Sam's face fell, but he composed himself hastily, hearing Frodo's disappointment.

"Beg your pardon, sir, I didn't realise. Don't you worry, we'll think of something else to do, right enough," he said reassuringly, squeezing Frodo's hand.

Frodo smiled a wan, tight-lipped smile and gave a single curt nod of his head in lieu of a response. The suggestion of visiting Bilbo's burial site was certainly one that had occurred to him on more than one occasion in the last year, but having to dismiss the idea outright in plainspoken language had wrung his heart with unexpected force. How wonderful it would have been to have that close proximity with Bilbo again, to wreathe his gravestone in a coronet of flowers specially chosen for that purpose, to commune with him through the earth that separated them.

"_Well, there is no helping it, it seems. I will have to content myself with speaking to him through my thoughts, as I have always done. I suppose it does not matter much where I am, so long as I keep him in my heart_," Frodo reasoned. The thought blunted the worst of the sting, but he could not help feeling that some tiny shard the breadth of a splinter was yet lodged somewhere below the surface of his skin.

XXXXX

It was long after nightfall and Sam tossed about restively underneath the silken enclosure of his bed-sheets. No matter how persistently he tried to empty his head, he found he was utterly at the mercy of an onslaught of meandering thoughts that would not suffer to be stemmed – thoughts that chased one another like tattered specters in an onyx-black sky, speaking out in his voice and projecting unbidden images from his past on the viewing screen of his mind. Bilbo was always at the centre of these thoughts, the eye around which this phantom vortex circled madly. One moment he would find himself hearkening back to the days when Bilbo would sit patiently with him in Bag End, going over his letters with professorial precision or being summoned at hearth's edge to be enchanted by his incredible adventures, the next moment he was at the Grey Havens watching a very elderly Bilbo board the great white ship that would bear him to his final destination.

He thought of the day that lay ahead of him, now only hours away, the day that had imposed a wistful longing on Frodo that Sam was powerless to satisfy.

"_I wish I hadn't brought up that business about visiting Bilbo's burying place. Still, it seems to me he ought to be able to at least drop by to pay his respects. I can't fathom how the Great Ones wouldn't be willing to grant him at least that. Oh, but what do I know about it_," he thought to himself, frustrated by his inability to undo the irrevocable.

He burrowed deeper into his sheets, a curious chill raking over him as he struggled vainly against his restlessness. He tried to access the quiet center of his mind, that shimmering oasis where respite lay waiting like a jewel buried in the sand, but he could not discover its location. The sensation of cold that had bored through him seemed to heighten, and he was suddenly afraid. In all of his time on the Blessed Isle, he had never known that kind of coldness to penetrate through his and Frodo's home.

"_There's something funny afoot, though what it is I can't guess_," Sam reflected, and threw back the coverlets to rout out the source of his unease.

Outside of the relative warmth of his bed, the chill was now too palpable to dismiss. His skin broke out in gooseflesh, and he wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing at his forearms as his teeth set to chattering. He pulled his housecoat around him and made his way to Frodo's adjoining bedroom. The door was wide open. The pale light of moon blanketed his bed – his rumpled, empty bed.

"Frodo?" he called out, panic setting in. "Mr. Frodo? Where've you got to? Mr. Frodo!"

He swayed unsteadily down the corridor and made his way to the front parlour. He darted his head to and fro, crying out Frodo's name with increasing urgency. He saw the drapes billow out in erratic bursts, and was stopped in his tracks, for now he understood why all had grown so unusually cold. There before him, the front door stood open, letting in a bracing ocean breeze. Frodo was no longer on the premises.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

Sam took off at a sprint out the opened door, his robe trailing behind him like an undulating banner in a fierce tempest. His heart pounded as sonorously as a war drum and his chest heaved with this sudden transition from shell-shocked inertia to frantic action.

"Frodo!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, cracking open the fragile shell of the night with the sheer force of his voice. There was no answering call, no susurrus of breath, no signaling patter of footsteps. He was alone, and Frodo was nowhere in sight.

"Where could he have gone? Where could he be?" he pleaded to the emptiness as tears of frustration stung at his eyes. "Think, Sam, think! It's no good running blindly in the dark on a wild goose chase, 'specially at your age. I can't very well help Mr. Frodo if my legs've given out – or my heart, more likely. Something's been eating at him, that much is plain; something having to do with poor old Mr. Bilbo. But that can't be where's he's off to, what with him being someplace he can't reach, someplace across…"

Sam craned his head westward where the snow-dusted Pelóri stood, and beyond it a divine country he had often glimpsed from his bedroom window but had never journeyed to in his short time on the Enchanted Isle. Somewhere within the borders of that sacred land, he knew, a hobbit slept. The thought was like a jolt of crackling electricity to his system.

"Hold on, Mr. Frodo!" Sam called, finding renewed strength in his moment of certitude, and ran with a swiftness that belied his years.

XXXXX

Frodo lay still under his covers, his nightly prayers having been delivered to Eru, and stared abstractedly at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him as his mind staged a striking reenactment of Bilbo's last moments in the mortal world just as he had experienced them one year ago to the day. He thought of the vast Elvish procession that accompanied them to Valinor, their heavenly voices wrung with sorrow for a fate that they could not understand, their song forever woven into the tapestry of memory. He thought of the bier on which his deathbed had been prepared, how it stood monolithically against a backdrop of pale, drooping flowers, and remembers thinking what a strange contrast the two had seemed to make. He thought of Gandalf setting Bilbo on that bed, a pillar of white momentarily blocking his view, and watching Bilbo's eyes close when the wizard had stepped back. He thought of the way that his knees wanted to buckle under him, how it had taken every ounce of willpower to keep from falling right there on the spot. He thought of the faraway, garbled sound of farewells being spoken, though he could hardly make sense of them at the time. He could remember nothing of the journey home, nothing save the music of the Elves that endured long into the reaches of the night, overspreading his very being as though it were a salve.

The line between wakefulness and rest began to blur as darkness hovered about him and the Elvish elegy metamorphosed into a lilting lullaby. Each note seemed to emit a faint pulse point of coloured light, creating pastel haloes of rose, azure, and saffron in the darksome vacuum of his subconscious. He felt as though they were calling him to a summons that he could not refuse, that they were stepping-stones lighting a path that he must pursue. He was beckoned forward, impelled by the beauty of the light and the allure of the voices, threading his way through the dark with fleet-footed steps. A light rain began to fall in tinsel strands, and a line of golden-leafed mallorn trees materialized on either side of him, bowed lithely like supplicants. They created an archway that extended far into the distance, lifting their boughs as he passed under them. Where they were leading him he could not tell, for the full-bodied leaves screened his destination from view. The raindrops glanced off of him in pinging trajectories as he pressed onward, catching a glimpse of stone through the interlacing tree branches. The rain was now hammering down in torrents, swishing around his ankles and churning noisily about him with a seething white froth. Higher and higher it rose, closing in around his knees and forcing him to wade labouriously against the resisting water.

"_Frodo_," a voice came to him from some indeterminate distance.

"_The stone speaks to me; it is calling my name_," Frodo thought. He fought his way forward and could now clearly see a raised stone slab, a small figure lying atop it.

"_Frodo_," it called again, nearer this time. The voice was familiar to him.

He struggled onward, the water now risen to chest-height, but he heeded it little. The leaves of the mallorn tree were dropping like dying embers, revealing the skeletal nakedness of the bark underneath. The singing had stopped, the lights had been snuffed out, but he no longer needed them: his goal was in sight. He saw the granite plinth, the wedge of rock, the hobbit that lay there unmoving.

"Bilbo," he uttered just before a current of water rushed into his mouth, leaving a briny aftertaste on his tongue. To his disbelief, the old hobbit stirred and raised his head to look at him, the pupil-less eyes shining with preternatural light. Frodo gasped as terror clutched vice-like at his heart.

"_He has become a wraith_," he thought. "_I must help him. I must go to him and save him from his fate_."

He slogged purposefully through the water, his head now barely breaking its surface.

"_Frodo_!" that same voice hollered, this time at his ear.

"I am coming, Uncle," he replied, trance-like, the water now closing in over his mouth completely.

"Frodo! Stop!" That was the response, but it was no longer Bilbo's voice that he heard. He felt a set of strong arms seizing him from behind and drawing him backward, lifting him off of his feet. A whimper of dismay escaped his throat as the image vanished, as quickly as if a candle had been blown out. Blackness overtook him, the gleaming eyes leaving a transient imprint of pallid light in the dark and then fading with all the rest, and the world seemed to bottom out from underneath him. At last, he submitted to unconsciousness and neither saw or heard aught else.

XXXXX

Sam puffed along, loath to be deterred by the protestations of his aggrieved lungs or the frenzied dance of his elevated heartbeat. Frodo was in trouble and his every impulse was calibrated to the sound of his master's distress call. He could have no more given up on his errand than he could have taken flight with an incanted word. He simply _had_ to answer that appeal for help, _had_ to ensure that his master was delivered to safety again. There was nothing that could stop him now.

The grass, dyed a deeper forest green at this late hour, at last gave way to sands that shone like moon rock and whose whiteness even the ebony mantle of night could not diminish. If Sam had needed any further confirmation that he had predicted correctly (and he did not), he received it, for indented in the sand was a lone set of footprints trailing into the Sea beyond. A small silhouette was rimmed against the ebbing waves, ambling headlong into its immensity.

"Frodo!" Sam shouted with redoubled intensity, making a beeline for him, hoping beyond hope that he would halt before venturing any further into the very real peril of the ocean. But just as he feared, Frodo did not acknowledge him.

"_Why don't he answer? What's he thinking of walking right into the open water? He's not thinking at all, that's the problem. Well then, after him, Sam! You didn't foot it all this way for naught!_"

He surged forward, kicking up powder-fine granules of quartz-like sand as he went, casting aside all fear for himself and redirecting it into steely determination. Dry ground became cool and damp and smooth as a satin ribbon as he neared the perimeter of the Sea, its uneven edges rising and receding in rhythmic repetitions. He threw off his housecoat as his feet touched the water, its coldness scarcely noticed, and he desperately called Frodo's name again.

"_He's going in too far, he'll be drownded if he goes much further, I've got to get to him, I've got to I've got to…"_

The water had risen up over Frodo's chin, and Sam thought he heard him speak some strange utterance in a voice quite unlike his own. Sam fought against the surf, the mounting danger, and his own firmly-entrenched dread of deep waters as the ocean broke around him on either side in a hissing spray.

"Frodo! Stop!" he hollered as he reached out toward his friend and hugged him fiercely to his chest. There was a fleeting moment of resistance, of obdurate forward momentum, and then his master's body went limp and yielded to him.

Sam pulled him close, making sure that this head stayed above water as he doubled back, the Sea facilitating the task by rendering Frodo's body weightless – for verily, the Vala Ulmo had not turned his face from the hobbits' plight – and at last laid him upon the beach and threw himself down beside him. He took Frodo carefully by the shoulders, leaning him against his own body in a half-sitting position, and sighed with relief as he felt his shallow breath brush against his cheek with the weight of a feather.

"_The heavens be praised_," he thought, "_He's all right. He's going to be all right."_

His own breathing was coming in ragged gasps as exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he shivered as much from the aftershock of his ordeal as the cold that whipped at his sodden bedclothes and his drenched skin.

"Frodo, Frodo, can you hear me?" he besought, in between heavy pulls of breath. "Please, Mr. Frodo, we're not in the clear just yet. I've got to bring you back home. Back where you're safe. But I need your help. Please, wake up, if you can. Please…"

He grabbed at the robe he had flung off before immersing himself into the Sea and draped it around Frodo's shoulders, running his hands up and down the length of Frodo's arms to warm them. He dropped his chin to the top of Frodo's head and rocked him slowly, the two moving in sync to the rise and fall of Sam's chest. Sam closed his eyes as he held him like that, wholly spent.

"Come, Frodo dear. I've got you now. Come back to me. Please come back," he said in a voice so frail it could hardly be heard over the rush of the ocean, his eyes shut tight against the cold and the fear that lashed at him.

Then he opened his eyes again as he felt Frodo stir in his arms and let out a sputtering cough.

"There now, Mr. Frodo, let it all out," he said, containing his elation as he waited for Frodo to get his bearings again.

"Where are we Sam? How did we get here?" he asked, perturbed by the unaccountable nearness of the ocean and the drenched garments that clung to him like an excess skin.

"Out by the Sea, Mr. Frodo, and a good ways from home. But never mind about that just yet; the thing to do now is to get you back before you catch your death of cold," Sam answered.

"By the Sea… I remember it now, Sam. Yes, that is where I was headed, but I thought that after all it had only been a dream."

"Dream or no dream, you were dead set on getting there, whether you meant to or no. You weren't in your right mind in any case, that much was certain. Luckily I got wise just in time, or else… well, I don't like to think of what might have happened," Sam answered as he rubbed Frodo's upper back briskly, as much for Frodo's benefit as for his own, for the touch of his living, breathing body was a comfort to him above all else against the threat of what might have been.

"Sam… I do not know how to thank you. But you are shaking like a leaf, my lad; and what's more, I have put you in harm's way. Come, let me at least repay my debt to you a little; put this coat around you," he said, sitting up, and spreading the robe over his rescuer's shoulders. Sam balked at keeping it for himself and said,

"At least let's share it, just until I get my strength up again. I'm not made for running, sir, nor swimming for that matter, and it's taken it out of me something awful."

"What a dreadful thing to have put you through; I shall never forgive myself!" Frodo cried.

"Now now, don't take on so, you didn't do nothing a-purpose. There's nothin' to forgive so don't you worry your head about it. Wherever you go, I'll be sure to follow, make no mistake about it. But now we really should be making our way back – goodness knows how late it is already."

"Are you certain you can manage it?" Frodo queried.

"Aye, well enough I'll wager, if we take it slow," he said and clambered wobblingly to his feet.

"Here Sam, put your arm around me, there's a lad. Steady on," Frodo said encouragingly, though his heart was stricken with pity for his weakness and remorse for having been the cause. _Wherever you go, I'll be sure to follow_, Sam had said, but Frodo wondered at what cost. How many times already had he sacrificed himself in the name of love and loyalty to the hobbit that even now he named his master? How many dangers had he forayed into with selfless abandon so that he, Frodo, might emerge unscathed? That had been his impetus in Middle-earth, but that need should no longer have been required of him on the shores of Aman. He had not made that last journey to resume his position as Frodo's keeper; he had come to settle down in peace and content, to enjoy his golden years without the strain of hardship or worry over the welfare of any but himself. He had more than earned it after all that he had done.

"_Frodo you old fool, what were you thinking of chasing after ghosts and illusions when all along you had Sam alive and well to look after_?" he chastised himself as Sam leant against him exhaustedly. "_How shall I ever bring him home in this condition? He should not be up and about at all; but neither can we stay here and trust that we will not freeze to death while the night tarries. What am I to do_?"

He led him onward, hunched as he was under the spread of the robe, but Sam began to slip downward, his hold on Frodo loosening, and there was a soft grainy sound as his knees fell upon the sandy floor.

"Sam!" he moaned, devastated.

"S'all right…just need…to rest for a while," Sam said thickly, haltingly, wearily, and then he collapsed forward with a heavy thud.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Frodo's heart plunged to the pit of his stomach as he watched Sam sag to the ground below and pitch forward like one who has succumbed to an unmanageable weight. He dropped to his knees, and turned Sam over on his back with a sound of exertion. Grains of wet sand clung to the side of his face like a patchwork stubble, uneven and asymmetrical, and mortared the front of his nightclothes in haphazard patterns. Taking Sam's hand fumblingly, Frodo felt the erratic pulse skipping at the wrist, telegraphing a senseless and jumbled message.

"_Oh, Sam, what have I done? My fault…it is all my fault_," but he could not dwell long on these self-pitying reproaches, for action was what was needed most.

_"But what am I to do? I cannot do this on my own. O mighty Valar, if you are listening, please hear my plea. Lend me your aid, I beg of you. Please help my friend. Please…"_

Tears wrung his eyes as he looked around despairingly, as though some emissary of the gods might suddenly take form on the whispering winds, but nothing did he see save the swaying reeds near at hand and the serried trees silhouetted against the indigo sky in the distance. The chill of night settled deeper into his bones, his wet clothing offering little protection from the elements.

"_Please, do not forsake me in my time of need. Do not forsake _him," he pled.

He lowered Sam's hand back to the ground and made ready to seek out help himself, reluctant as he was to leave him there lest he revived while he was away. He rose to his feet, his senses reeling from the dizzying magnitude of one trauma after another, and saw, incredibly but unmistakably, the soft light of an approaching lantern.

"Hullo!" he cried, dashing clumsily to the bearer of the light, waving his arms over his head excitedly. "I am here!"

The light of the lantern illumined the noble face of a High Elf gazing out concernedly with eyes like blue beryl set in isinglass. His robes were the colour of midnight and were threaded with silver, his hair was of raven everlasting.

"_Le suilon_, Master Baggins. Yes, your name is well known to me, though my face may not be familiar to you. I am Calaeron, and I have come hither with all haste, for I heard, to my amazement, the cry of frightened voices disturb the silence of the night. What has befallen that finds you on the shores of the Sea thusly arrayed at so late an hour?"

"May Eru bless you, friend Calaeron! It is my companion; he has fallen into a dead faint and I fear what may become of him if he is not brought to shelter."

"This is a strange chance indeed. There is more to this story than what you tell, but I shall not question you any further at the present. We must get you and your friend safely indoors where I may tend to you both properly. Lead the way, Master Baggins, and I shall convey your comrade," said Calaeron, setting down his lantern to scoop Sam into his arms.

"Please, call me Frodo. I cannot begin to thank you enough for your kindness. I do not know what I should have done if you had not come along when you did."

"You need not thank me, for we of the Elven race are ever at your service, Frodo. Now, take up my light so that your feet do not falter and let us be off!"

Frodo grabbed hold of the lantern and a strange dread shook him, for he fancied the low flame was a pale eye winking at him eerily from someplace beyond this mortal coil, and he remembered the dream that had brought him to this pass, but he shook off the feeling and set a course for home.

XXXXX

The moon was low in the sky when Frodo had led Calaeron and Sam back to their dwelling, the front door still swung out on its hinges, agape like a startled mouth. Frodo ushered Calaeron inside this unlikely maw, shutting the door behind him hastily as though to shut out an ill wind. Calaeron laid Sam down on the couch and set about stoking a fire in the hearth.

"Sam breathes easily again; it may be that he is now merely slumbering. But he must be changed out of these damp clothes at once, and you as well, Frodo," said the Elf. "It would not do for either one of you to catch fever."

Frodo hastily exchanged his wet things for dry and came back to the front room with a soft cotton nightshirt and a roll of blankets bundled underneath his arm. Carefully, Frodo wiped the residual sand that had adhered to Sam's face with a damp rag, and Calaeron assisted Frodo in re-dressing him. Frodo spread the blankets over him, tucking him in up to his chin and kissed his forehead.

"Are you certain that he will be all right, Calaeron?" he asked, turning to him.

"I am quite certain, for even as I bore him away from yonder Sea I perceived the peace of the Valar returning to his limbs. It is by their grace that he is made well again. I have seen to it that the fire will not die while the night lasts, though that may only be a short time now. Be sure he takes water when he awakes, and your friend will be quite unchanged, if not perhaps a trifle footsore. But you, Frodo, have had a trying night as well and must sleep if you can. I see that there has been some strange trouble afoot this night, but I will not press you for further details. Would you like me to summon the Lord Elrond or perhaps Mithrandir to consult with you in the morning about this matter?"

"You have done much for me already. But I should not like to be of any further trouble to you or those who you name. It was, after all, only a dream which drove me to the shores of the Sea and nothing more," Frodo answered.

"Yet my sense tells me that there may be more at work here than the troubled stirrings of a fevered dream – may there not be some other symptom that provoked this incident?"

"There may," Frodo replied charily, "but I do not anticipate suffering from another one of these odd spells, if that is how I should name it. If necessary, I will truss myself to the bed at nighttime so as not to put myself or anyone else in danger!"

"I should hope such measures will not prove necessary. But is not that fear all the more reason to seek counsel?"

"Really, I do not know, for how can any guard me against what occurs unwittingly in my unconscious mind?"

"By removing the problem at its source, mayhap. But as I said, I do not wish to tax you any more than you have already been this day. You must rest now, for fatigue lays heavy on you, I can see. Come tomorrow, I believe you will not begrudge what additional assistance I may bring to you."

"Far be it from me to begrudge you anything, my friend! I owe you a wealth of gratitude already, loath as you are to accept it. But I daresay you are right; perhaps it _would_ be best to speak further of this matter when I have slept."

"Good, then it is settled. Sleep well, Frodo, and may no evil visit you in waking or in dreaming."

"Namárië, Calaeron, may the Valar be with you."

"And you also."

With Calaeron departed, Frodo closed the front door with a small snicking sound and let out a long sigh. He checked on Sam, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand as the fire crackled nearby, when Sam's eyes opened by degrees at Frodo's touch.

"Sam! Oh, but I did not mean to wake you. How are you feeling? Wait, let me fetch you some water," Frodo said.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Frodo, a glass of water would go down proper," said a decidedly raspy-throated Sam. Frodo retrieved the requested the object and helped Sam tilt the tumbler slowly to his lips so as not to spill any on himself.

"Are you feeling better, Sam? I was so horribly frightened when you took that fall," said Frodo.

"Much better now with you here to look after me, sir. I guess I'd bit off more'n I could chew back there by the water. Seems that we both had a pretty nasty scare tonight and no mistake! But how did we get back here? I can't remember any of it past the part where I finally dropped off. Glory above, what a fix to leave you in!"

"Heavens, Sam, how is that even now you can barely give a thought for yourself? But it is true, it was quite a terrible fix to have landed in; I have only myself to blame for it. Thankfully a good Elf by the name of Calaeron was delivered to us as if by the Valar themselves, and it is he you have to thank for transporting you here."

"What, you mean an Elf _carried_ me all the way here? Imagine that! I will have to find some way of thankin' him, though I doubt as I am fit to repay him the way he deserves. Bless him! But there you go again, Mr. Frodo, taking the blame to yourself when there's no call for it. You couldn't-a helped it, as I said, so there's no reason to beat yourself up about it. You remember that old turn of phrase my Gaffer was so fond of: 'All's well as ends better,' eh, sir? And I _am_ better, honest to goodness. But what about _you_?"

"I do not know, Sam. I do not know what came over me tonight. It was as though some other will was moving my feet, as though I had handed over the reins of control completely… but still, I cannot help but feel responsible. I do not know if I am ready to speak of what I saw in my dream, for the images are frightening to recall," Frodo said.

"Then let's not speak of it – don't even think of it, if you can help it. What you need is to get some shut-eye while the gettting's still good."

"Yes, that would probably be best. But I find now that I am afraid of what sleep might bring after all that has happened."

"Meaning you're worried your feet will take a mind to wander again? Well, that's easy enough, Mr. Frodo. Let me sleep beside you, that way if any more funny ideas come into your head, I'll be there to stop 'em dead in their tracks."

"Thank you, Sam, that would make me feel much better indeed."

With that, they shambled off to Frodo's room, and slipping beneath the coverlets, Sam draped an arm lightly across Frodo's chest until sleep found them both just before the rising of the dawn.

XXXXX

It was nearly noon-time when Frodo unhooded his eyes again. His head was nestled in Sam's chest as he lay on his back, snoring softly, one arm still hooked protectively around Frodo's shoulders.

Frodo raised his head and looked into his friend's face. He imagined what it must have been for Sam to have woken last night to find his bed vacant, a meaningless tangle of sheets where his Frodo should have laid; he thought of the confusion and the fear that must have accompanied his desperate flight into the arms of darkness; he thought of the inner fortitude that he must have called upon to have plunged himself into the enormity of the Sea. He placed his head down gingerly upon Sam's chest again, unwilling to rouse him though the morning had already expired.

"_To make a trial of his friendship in this way is not pardonable. He should not have to be submitted to such tests_," Frodo thought to himself. "_He would protest at my saying so, but it is the truth. And then I wonder what would have happened if he had not interceded. His heart is so pure and his intentions so honourable that I cannot find fault with him_."

These cogitations led him ineluctably back to the dream that had set in motion this whole ill-fortuned chain of events.

"_Bilbo_," he said to himself. "_It is the one year anniversary marking his passing. Strange that my dream should have fallen on _that_ day of all days. Perhaps it is no coincidence_."

Before he could speculate any further, Sam inhaled deeply through his nose and yawned languorously. He rubbed the drowse from his eyes as Frodo lifted his head again to let him know that he too had woken.

"Good mornin', Mr. Frodo," said Sam, faithful as ever to the adherence of tradition.

"I think you mean to say good afternoon, for we have certainly left morning a good way behind us now."

"That late already, is it? Well, no wonder with all the trouble we had. Not that it was any trouble to _me_, mind you, but you know what I mean, I take it. It almost feels like it was all a dream, looking back. Did you get much sleep, Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, Sam, I slept as soundly as could be with you here to keep watch over me. Thank you again for staying with me."

A smile played about the corners of Sam's mouth as he brought his other arm down to fully enclose Frodo in an embrace.

"That's nothing at all; just so long as you don't take it into your head to go on another walkabout unawares, then I reckon we're all right," Sam joked.

"Let us both hope that that nightmare is not visited upon us again," Frodo said solemnly.

"I'm sorry for treating it like a jest, sir; I didn't mean anything by it. At any rate, I ought to get breakfast started – or luncheon, begging your pardon, though breakfast'll serve just as good if you have a mind," he said.

"Oh no you don't, Sam, not today! You stay right where you are! I am preparing today's meal, and I do not want you moving an inch or lifting a single finger while I am at work. Not a finger, mind!" he warned teasingly, waggling one of his own for emphasis.

"But, Mr. Frodo,"

"Ah, no buts, Mr. Gardner, it is the very least I can do after all that you have done for me in these last hours."

Frodo rustled up such a repast as he had not made for many long days when he and Bilbo had lived together and the responsibilities of head chef had fallen to him. He carried the viands to Sam on a tray, which elicited an abashed blush on he who was being served.

"Well, if this isn't a sight!" said Sam. "I must say, you've outdone yourself, Mr. Frodo – and here you were, knocking your own abilities in the kitchen all this time. But I won't take not a single mouthful until you've brought yours in as well,"

"All right, all right, I will grant you that much. But do not be too quick to praise my abilities just yet, for the real test is in the tasting," Frodo winked.

After the two had supped together in bed, Sam loudly declared that Frodo's cooking had indeed passed the taste test with flying colours. Frodo playfully pointed out that there was a certain bias tipped in his favour where Sam was concerned, but Sam dismissed the notion with a touch of injury. Their trays pushed back and their stomachs amply satiated, the two hobbits fell at last to more serious discussion.

"Sam, I have been giving a lot of thought to what has happened since nightfall," Frodo began.

"I've been thinking a good deal about it myself, sir. And I think the best thing to do is to lay it all out on the table, from start to finish, so we can figure how to keep anything like it from happening again."

"That's just it, Sam; I am certain about what it was that brought it on…but I am afraid that there is little that can be done to help it," Frodo prefaced.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I think I know what it is myself. It came to me last night when I was out searching for you. And – gracious me!" Sam exclaimed, clapping a hand to his forehead, "That brings up another thing. Today's the one year mark of poor Mr. Bilbo's bein' laid to rest, isn't it? It nearly up and slipped my mind, things being what they were, and may I be forgiven!"

"That's all right, Sam. There certainly has been a lot of excitement as of late and sleep has erased much of the cares that afflicted us in the hours prior. But you have guessed rightly, for it seems that there can be no secrets between us, even when I choose not to speak openly of them. I was thinking of Bilbo last night as I tossed and turned in bed, of not having the liberty of visiting him today. And even as I travelled forth in my dream to find him, so too did my feet guide me toward Valinor where he lays. But the dream took a rather terrible turn, at last, and I thought…but no, it is too frightful to speak of," Frodo withdrew.

"Don't worry, Mr. Frodo; it was only a dream, and it can't touch you now, whatever it was," Sam soothed, and Frodo felt the pressure of Sam's fingers as they pressed his hand.

"Yes…yes, you're right, of course. Well, Sam, it seemed to me – it _seemed_ that Bilbo was not really himself at all when I had finally reached him. He lifted his head to look at me, but his eyes were empty and his face seemed an unnatural likeness of himself. And in that moment, I thought…I thought that I was face-to-face with a, a wraith," Frodo stammered.

"A wraith? You mean like one of them… them Black Riders, from long ago?"

"Just so, Sam. That is when the world grew dark and I fell into a swoon. And that is when _you_ found me, thank the stars. But I do not tell you of these things out of concern for myself. I tell you of them out of concern for you. I have put you in danger, Sam, unwillingly of course, but danger nonetheless, and that should never have come to pass. And I am determined that it should never happen again. You could have been drowned, Sam."

"And so might've you, Mr. Frodo, if I hadn't stepped in. No, say what you will, I'd do it again in the blink of an eye, and that's flat."

"I know you would, Sam, and that is precisely what troubles me. I do not know what will come in the days ahead, but I do know that if I were to ever compromise your safety the way I did last night, I could not live with myself."

"And I couldn't-a lived with _my_self if I'd-a let anything happen to _you_. But it _won't_ happen again, Mr. Frodo, I'd stake my name on it. And d'you know why? 'Cause I'm here to protect you. I won't leave your side, sir, there's nothing in all this good green earth that could drive me to it. That's why I came here in the first place: so that I could find you again. I had to follow you, just the same as I had to follow you last night. There's no helping it, you understand. It's being with you as makes life worth living, and I wouldn't have it no other way. So whatever you might be thinking of, you can just put it out of your head. I'll see to it that no badness ever keeps us apart, and all the more now that we've had that scare. You'll be needin' a friend now more than ever, and you needn't look no further. And I need my friend too," said Sam, gazing levelly into Frodo's eyes, which had grown lustrous with impending tears.

"My Sam, I will never understand what I could have done to deserve such a friend as you. Indeed, I do not believe that there is any greater in all of this world or any other. You must understand that I only brought my anxieties before you because I care for you more than anything, not because I ever wished to leave your side. I want you to enjoy the best that this life has to offer, to reap all the rewards of these Blessed Lands fully and without limit, and there is nothing that I would not do to see it done," Frodo said, but was cut off by the sound of a knocking at the door.

"Oh, bother it all, who could be calling on us now?" Frodo grumbled. "I am in no fit shape to receive visitors – heavens, look at the two of us; past noon and still lying in bed!"

"I'll answer it, Mr. Frodo, while you're getting dressed and ready," Sam offered.

"No, I shall go with you, Sam – I would not want them to think that you were the only one guilty of remaining in bed overlong. Come, let's see who it is."

Without further delay, the sleep-tousled, gently disheveled hobbits were up on their feet again, each grinning amusedly at the state of the other knowing very well that they were looking at a mirror image of themselves, and went to see who stood on the other side of the door.

XXXXX

**Author's Note: **Credit goes to elf dot namegeneratorfun dot com for lending me the name "Calaeron" for my Elf character, which, according to the site means "light of the sea" in Elvish, fittingly enough. On an unrelated note, most of this chapter was written during a two day period of insomnia and I hope that the quality of the writing is not impaired because of it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Gandalf!" Frodo beamed, shepherding the wizard inside enthusiastically. "Why, it seems nearly an age since I have last seen you."

"Yes, it appears you have had little need for my company now that Sam has joined you. Nay, I meant no offence, Frodo! For that is as it should be," he added, taking note of the guilty expression that clouded the hobbit's eyes. "There are greater powers even than the conjuring of wizards and the ministrations of Elves, though they be of a subtler nature. But I have had troubling news this morning of a certain misadventure yestereve."

"Yes, I am afraid it is so, Gandalf," Frodo sighed.

"And none of it would-a happened if poor Mr. Frodo had been allowed to see Mr. Bilbo, if I may make so bold," Sam interjected with a modicum of heat.

"Those are bold words indeed, Samwise, but I shall not reproach you for them, knowing how deeply Frodo's well-being touches you. But do not forget that there are many matters which lie beyond my authority, though you seem to think I am free to command even the tides of the sea and the movement of the celestial spheres at my leisure," he said pointedly as Sam blushed to the ears at his own unwonted brashness. "Fortunately, I have come to answer to your objection, master hobbit. I have come to take you to Valinor, Frodo, if Sam will be good enough to allow it, that is," Gandalf finished, bowing slightly at the waist in mock servility.

"Do you mean it, Gandalf?" Sam interposed. "He's been allowed to go then? Well glory be, it seems I spoke out too soon! Did you hear that, sir? You're going to get to pay Bilbo a visit after all!"

"That is wonderful news indeed, Gandalf! But must I leave Sam behind? For I would not wish to go without him, not unless I absolutely must," Frodo said, looping his arm through Sam's.

"I expected that to be your reply, and I have been bidden to tell you that Sam may assuredly accompany you. But you must make ready to depart soon, for already the day is waning and I see that you are ill-prepared for travelling out of doors," he said, giving them a cursory glance of appraisal.

"I'm afraid so, though perhaps we may be pardoned after last night's events," Frodo answered, a smile animating his face. "Come then, Sam, enough dawdling. Bilbo awaits us."

XXXXX

Having made themselves presentable, Frodo and Sam followed Gandalf outside where a white carriage trimmed in gold waited for them, led by two snowy-maned horses who tossed back their regal heads as they approached. The sun glinted off its burnished edge as though it were the very flame of life leaping up in triumph. The coachman leapt down from his seat to open the door for the passengers, and the light of recognition dawned in Frodo's eyes at once.

"Calaeron! I did not expect to meet you again so soon! I suppose that it is you I have to thank for apprising Gandalf of my situation."

"So it was, Frodo, just as I promised. Are you not glad now that I have acted thus?"

"I cannot express how glad, my friend, and now I really shall be ever in your debt."

"Nay, I will not hear of it! Gladly was my aid rendered and I seek no further reward than seeing the both of you mended and at your ease."

Despite Calaeron's avowal, Sam bowed low before him and said:

"I never had the chance to thank you properly for all your help, and I wished last night that I had come round afore you left so I could-a done. But I thank you now from the bottom of my heart, whatever it's worth."

"It is worth a great deal, Master Samwise, a great deal indeed. Truly, I can think of no finer recompense than that. Now then, if you please, the harbour awaits us!" he said, offering a hand to each of the hobbits in turn as they stepped into the coach. By this time, Sam's face had deepened to such a lurid shade of scarlet – firstly at being attended to by one so high as Calaeron, secondly at being referred to by said Elf as 'master,' and thirdly by the benevolence of his words – that Frodo feared that they should have to fetch a pitcher of water before they set out to cool the fire of humility that burned his cheeks so. But Sam settled down shortly thereafter as the company wended their way to the neighboring country of Valinor.

XXXXX

Frodo and Gandalf stood at the prow of the ship that would take them to Bilbo's resting site and watched as the province of the Valar drew nearer and nearer, its verdant fields becoming increasingly defined by discrete blades of grass and comely trees with names that Frodo knew, no longer a panoramic landscape seen from a great distance. Sam, however, had withdrawn to the little cabin of the ship,

"For I don't want to see the water no nearer than I already have, not after last night, thank you!" he explained. So it was that Frodo and Gandalf had come to be alone together, and Frodo found that he craved conversation with the wizard, especially since his earlier discussion with Sam had been left unfinished.

"It is hard to believe that a whole twelvemonth has passed since I came here last with Bilbo," Frodo initiated. "I would have never thought a year ago that I should be so well off as I am now – except for last night, or course; dreadful thing, that. In fact, Gandalf, if you had asked me a year ago, I would have doubted that I would still be here at all."

"But you _are_ here, Frodo, and not without reason."

"Yes, and that reason is resting within as we speak," Frodo said feelingly, casting his gaze over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin. "But I find now that I am vexed with new worries in light of these recent events."

"And rightly so! Such events are not to be taken lightly, particularly when you are under the auspices of the Ainur. Of course, I have only heard a witness's account and do not know the full tale. Will you tell it?"

Frodo acceded and related every detail of his walking dream in full, omitting nothing, odious as the re-telling was.

"I suppose that the dream itself is easy enough to read," Frodo concluded, "though I do not know why Bilbo should have taken on that terrible form at the last."

"I wonder," said Gandalf contemplatively, his voice fading to silence so that only the lapping of the white-capped waves against the ship could be heard. "You should have sought me out at once, Frodo, before things came to this pass. The Valar, you know, are not miserly wardens who guard their realm jealously with lock and key, or else you should have never entered into their city in the first place. True, their domain cannot long be withstood by those of mortal lineage, but this much at least is permissible. Ah, but then, perhaps I should not be so quick to point the finger of blame. I too have been remiss in this matter, it seems. This vision that has presented itself to you, however, is quite another consideration altogether."

"It was most disturbing, Gandalf. But what disturbs me even more is the fact that I led Sam into possible peril with my actions, though I was not the master of myself at the time. Sam thinks nothing of it, of course, bless his heart – but I _do_ think something of it. What do _you_ think, Gandalf?"

"I think that there is much that is not in our power to control, and that there are some ailments that are resistant to even the most potent of treatments. Do you remember when you spoke to me of the Ring ere Bilbo's leave-taking?"

"Well yes, yes of course I remember. It seemed to me then that it might have played some part in keeping Bilbo alive so long a time, that its remembered weight might have been bearing down upon him in his final years."

"And I bade you to dismiss such dark reflections, if you recall. Yet, here you are, talking of wraiths, though their terror has perished from the world forever. Does it not strike you as odd that your uncle is surrounded by these unhappy tokens of your old Quest?"

"I hadn't thought of it before now. But now that you call it to my attention it does seem strange to me. In fact, it seems strange to me that these tokens, as you call them, should come back to me at all. I had hoped to be forever rid of them, for that was why I voyaged to these shores," Frodo said, a slight crease forming between his brows.

"Alas, even on the shores of the Undying Lands there could be no guarantee for a full recovery. Yours, my dear hobbit, is a rather exceptional case."

"But have I not been recovered?" Frodo returned, his face a mask of discouragement.

"I did not say so! You alone hold the answer to that, Frodo. I said only that a _full_ recovery was not vouchsafed, though I have hoped for it with all earnestness. But as for Sam, I do not think you need worry yourself on his behalf, for he will be ever more watchful now he has seen that you have not left _all_ of your troubles behind you on Middle-earth."

"That is just the thing, Gandalf. I _do_ worry, despite what you say. I worry that it is too much to ask of him to keep looking after me the way he does, to keep him on constant alert in the event that his old master shows signs of relapsing. I wonder sometimes if he would not really be more at peace if I was no longer here to cause him disturbance. I wonder if it would not be better if I joined Bilbo after all," he said, his voice wilting.

"As to that, only you can decide when the time is right, Frodo, and it is not my part to advise you one way or the other. But I will tell you this: to leave _for_ Sam would be foolish, for he would not have it so even if it meant flinging himself into the Sea daily, though I do not think that it will not come to that. If, however, you choose to leave because of the grief occasioned by the Ring and all of its associations, then that is another matter entirely."

"But what of the grief that Sam may suffer because of these unwanted reminders?"

"Grief? No, Frodo, you may rest assured that Sam suffers no grief at taking you into his keeping, for that is what Sam was made for."

"What, made to mind a worrisome old hobbit like me?"

"No; he was made to bring life to that which would otherwise fade. He was made to bring hope in times of uncertainty and courage in times of fear. He was made to be your friend and companion, and to ask him to do any less would be to strip him of purpose."

Frodo revolved Gandalf's counsel in his mind, for the wizard's wisdom was like to a swift-running river that stirred up the sediment that had settled weightily on the banks of his perception. Sam had indeed been all of those things that Gandalf so cogently named and then some, but with that understanding a new set of qualms impinged upon him. What if the remembrances of the Quest did begin to recur more frequently? What if his old injuries had been reopened; what if not even Sam's influence could stanch such a flow and keep him from bleeding out to depletion?

"_Perhaps I am being too hasty, for I have only really had the one unfortunate episode, and that only because of the tragic import of this day. No, I cannot surrender so soon, not when so many of my days have been of joy and not of sorrow. Would one uproot an entire garden because a single weed had straggled its way into the soil? Certainly not! And so I cannot come to a decision that is founded on an imagined fear that has not been fully realised, not when there is still likely cause to believe I may yet thrive for many years. I _want_ to remain with Sam, and it would surely break his heart if he thought that I might quit this life on his account."_

The savour of death, now, seemed to drift above and about him as the ship was preparing to dock on the westernmost shores, its darkling tendrils twining sinuously around his limbs like intangible shackles. Death had infused his every thought, reciting an ominous mantra that looped endlessly and unintelligibly, throbbing noiselessly in his ears. Perhaps it was his close proximity to Bilbo that put him in this uncommon mood, perhaps it was the somberness of the day that had taken root in him like a canker, but whatever the cause, it was not to be simply willed away. He felt his own doom more pronouncedly than he had ever done, and found himself thinking that the next time he set sail for Valinor might be his last. He wondered what would become of Sam when that day arrived. Would it be as Gandalf said: would Sam be left without purpose, his happiness abandoned, his love for life terminated? He remembered how awful it had been when Bilbo had gone, the overpowering sense of isolationism that he had experienced, the listless days that dragged on without event. He would not have wished that feeling on anyone, and Sam least of all.

_ "Is that what it will come when I am ready to submit to my fate?"_

The idea was too heart-rending to countenance. Then he remembered once more the words that Sam had spoken after retrieving him from the watery confines of the Sea.

_Wherever you go, I'll be sure to follow._

Frodo sighed heavily. Of course Sam would follow him. The death-knell would toll not once, but twice on the appointed hour. He fancied that he could hear the strokes ring out sonorously in his inner ear, two fell notes trembling in the gloom and the still. _Doom_. _Doom_.

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Sam, conversely, had no thought for unhappy things and was all full of wonder when they had finally touched upon the home of the Valar. The very wind in his ears seemed tinged with a breath of music as his gaze swept across a land that was almost impossible in its beauty. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the leafy tops of trees in angled columns of gold, and the flowers were such of rich and vibrant hue that his eyes were dazzled at the sight of them. He could see the spired tops of domed roofs beyond and the mountains of white further still, rising majestically into the empyrean.

"It's almost like every season all at once," he said to Frodo as they disembarked. "There's springtime flowers, summer sun, the golden leaves of harvest-time and wintery mountains all in the same place."

Frodo smiled indulgingly but did not offer any further remark. His mind was occupied with other thoughts.

With Gandalf as their guide, the three travellers did not walk so much as they floated through the land of Valinor; at least, that was how it had felt to the hobbits. To Sam, it seemed as though he was suspended in an iridescent bubble, all crystalline liquid and slow-moving fantasy. To Frodo, it felt like he had left his body behind him and was being spirited inexorably toward his journey's end.

It was late in the day when they at last came to the spot that Frodo recalled only too well. There was a green sward populated with delicate flora, open sky above, outlying mallorns with arms uplifted toward the heavens. The only difference was that where Bilbo's bed had stood there was now a gravestone set upon a mound, inscribed with characters of the Elvish language and the Common Tongue alike.

Gandalf kept a respectful distance as Sam and Frodo approached the monument with soundless footsteps. They halted before the stone, this indomitable testimony to Bilbo's life, and read the engraving.

"Look, Mr. Frodo. They've set down a phrase from Mr. Bilbo's walking song," Sam murmured quietly. Frodo ran his hand over the cool marble face of the headstone, his fingers tracing the words that Sam had referred to:

_The road goes ever on and on_

He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"Sam, could I have a moment alone with Bilbo?" he said at last.

"Of course, sir. You take all the time that you need," he answered as Gandalf gently herded him away.

Frodo stood silently there, forgetting almost to breathe as all extraneous sound died away and the world suddenly became very small.

"Hullo Uncle," he said, with eyes that shone translucent. "I have come to pay you a visit. I have missed you so much. So very much." He swallowed away the lump in his throat and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"There have been many changes since you left. Perhaps you know a thing or two about that already, for I have often felt that you were watching over me from afar, looking out for me when I was in doubt. Sometimes I fancy that I hear your laughter borne on the westward wind, or see your smile in the Sun's rays. And home, home is so full of your memory. I sometimes expect to see you turn the corner when I am walking through the halls or find you slumbering in bed when I pass your old chambers. What would I not give to talk with you again, to thank you for all the ways that you have filled my life with meaning? I wish it every day. Perhaps I will have my chance. I had thought today might be that day. But it is still too soon yet, or so my heart tells me. I hope that I have not chosen wrongly."

Frodo knelt before Bilbo's headstone, one hand rested on the earth that had received him.

"I shall love you always, Uncle. We _will_ meet again. Sam too shall be with me. Keep to the road. I will look for you there. Our paths will converge at last."

He kissed his palm and then pressed it against Bilbo's name, slowly climbing to his feet. He turned around and saw Gandalf and Sam look up at him in unison and he went to them feeling lighter than when he had come.

"I am ready," he said. "Let us go home."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The orange disc of the sun was fast descending in the coral-ribbed sky when the two hobbits had moored on Tol Eressëa again. Their carriage stood at the ready to transport them back home, for they were both of them wearied after a long day of travel. Calaeron admitted them, as before, and Sam managed a clumsy bow, though he nearly toppled over in the effort, saddled with fatigue as he was. Calaeron deftly righted him again as Frodo took him by the hand, and he was helped inside the coach with a look of sheepish apology on his face. He fell asleep at once, his head resting on Frodo's shoulder, his breathing even and tranquil. With Sam's quiet breath, the ocean-song interminable, and the faraway cawing of the gulls commingling in his ears, his head sank slowly downward until his cheek rested upon the top of Sam's silver-grey curls and he too closed his eyes.

They did not rest long before Calaeron was obliged to wake them again. He led them through the front door of their quaint little dwelling and left with their thanks calling after him. Wordlessly, Frodo and Sam put their arms around each other's backs in mutual support as they shuffled off to bed. Sam drew back the coverlet as Frodo stepped in and laid himself down, then climbed in after him. He held Frodo snugly in his arms, his face nestled softly in the crook of his neck as they were whisked away into a sleep untainted by care or sadness.

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The next morning found them in high spirits, so blissful and untroubled had been their dreaming. Colours seemed enhanced so that the rainbow palette of the world became more vivid, and commonplace morning sounds became lyrical and melodious as though it were a sweeping orchestra arranged by a master composer. Every flower on its slender stalk, every swatch of grass and leafy tree was charged with a life as vital and self-aware as any sentient being. The birds trilled conversationally with the many agents of nature in their merry voices, and the ocean breakers beyond added their own song in alternating crescendos and descrescendos.

Frodo and Sam stood out on the verandah, their ears and minds duly receptive to the wonders that surrounded them, neither one daring to interrupt the pageantry of colour and sound that swathed them in its billowy folds for a long while. At last, Sam was moved to speech.

"It' so beautiful, Mr. Frodo, that I don't know whether to laugh or cry or both. And here I'd thought I'd seen all of the best places that there are back in Middle-earth. Somehow, it never ceases to surprise me, though I look upon it every morn. I wish Rose and the children could-a seen it."

"We are very fortunate indeed to share in this beauty alongside the Elves. But then, this is a haven for those who no longer have any business left in Middle-earth and there are few, perhaps, who would be as eager to follow as you might imagine, even among your kin, as deeply as I know they miss you."

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Frodo. The children are in their right home, after all, and they wouldn't be in a hurry to leave it, magic or no magic, I'll warrant. Still, it would be nice if they could just catch a glimpse of the place, or stop over for a kind of holiday, if you like, though I know that can't be. Sometimes I wish I had one of those Seeing-stones like what the King had so I could look in on them now and then to see how they're keeping. Ah, but there's naught to worry about I suppose. I reckon that their mum's watching over 'em better than I could now."

"I am sure she is, Sam, just as she is watching over you. But your children too know that their old Dad is with them always in thought and in heart, and your presence in the Shire will endure as long as your line shall continue, though you are now removed from it – and that, my dear hobbit, will be a very long time indeed," Frodo affirmed.

"I dearly hope so. All the same, it would be a weight off if I was able to drop in on them from time to time. Speaking of, Mr. Frodo, how're you feeling now that you've got to visit Mr. Bilbo?"

"Better; much, much better. It has brought me much-needed closure after that fearful dream of mine. I laboured in mind for a time, trying to decide how to proceed. But now it seems that I have returned to my proper place," he said, lacing his fingers with Sam's.

"That you have, sir. You've got nothing to worry about anymore, not as long as I'm here with you. That's a promise."

The two fell silent again, their hands clasped between them as they trained their eyes on the seascape again. Frodo knew that Sam would do everything in his power to make good on his promise, had always known it. But then he thought of the discussion that he had had with Gandalf aboard the ship to Valinor and his face grew graver, and his hold on Sam's hand loosened perceptibly. Sam glanced sidelong at Frodo and then did a quick double-take when he had read the lineaments of his face.

"What is it, Mr. Frodo? What's wrong?"

Frodo recalled himself from his unbidden reverie and unwound the tension that had stretched across his face.

"Nothing, it is nothing. I was only thinking to myself, perhaps a bit too intently," he said, patting Sam's hand calmingly with his free hand and releasing the other from his grasp.

"Now, sir, don't go forgetting what you said yesterday. There aren't to be any secrets between us, and I mean to hold you to it. There's no good that'll come of keeping things to yourself no-how. And I didn't like that look, no sir, I didn't like it at all. You'd best be telling me what it was about, for I'll not let it slide, I can tell you!" Sam replied fervently.

Frodo hesitated, disinclined to dampen the mood with gloomy cogitations and private heart-whisperings.

"I did say that, didn't I? I did not mean to break faith, Sam, it is only difficult to say some things aloud in the bright light of day when there is so much to be thankful for. But you are right, I owe it to you to hold nothing back, after all that you have done for me."

Frodo paused, struggling to frame his thoughts.

"I was just thinking of something that Gandalf had said to me yesterday. It rather put me out of countenance, as a matter of fact. He thought my dream – my nightmare, I should say – might suggest that a complete recovery…might not be possible for me. That perhaps – _perhaps_ – the nature of my illness will prevent me from ever being fully healed."

"I don't understand," Sam replied. "One bad dream and he's ready to throw his hands up just like that?"

"It is not only the dream, Sam. The Ring, though it was unmade, cannot ever really be unremembered. And it does come back to my mind, at whiles, particularly when I am troubled at heart, though that seldom chances here in the Undying Lands."

"But what could be left to trouble you now, sir? What with me here, and not going noplace without you, as I've said. And if you've a mind to see Mr. Bilbo again, then all you've got to do is ask and it's good as done."

"There is one thing that has lately occurred to me, one thing that has been weighing on my mind since my talk with Gandalf. I cannot predict what will happen as time goes on, Sam, though I have reason to hope that you are right when you say that my troubles are behind me. But if it should prove otherwise, if the pain of reliving past hurts should grow in proportion as the days lengthen, then… I worry what that will mean for you, my dear Sam."

He exhaled shakily, dropping his gaze as though ashamed at his confession so bluntly stated. But Sam gently lifted Frodo's chin with one of his weathered hands so that their eyes met, and took him firmly by the shoulders.

"That's not going to happen, not on my watch. I won't allow it. You must believe that, Mr. Frodo, or else why did you come here at all? You're here to get well, to put the past behind you, not to let it finally get the better of you. Maybe the forgetting's not so easy, like you said, for memories aren't like weeds that you can pull up by the roots, no matter how much you wish you could. But that doesn't mean that you can't move on from all that's happened. I _know_ you can, and don't you doubt it for a second. Because you're Frodo, bravest of all hobbits, and I mean that with all my heart. You're stronger than what you give yourself credit for, stronger by far. I know it because I've seen it. I've seen up close the way you've fought through the cruelest of times when all else seemed lost, the way you pushed yourself through danger even though your own life was on the line, the way you never gave up even when it would-a been easier to lay down. You must have faith in yourself. Have faith in you like I do, like Mr. Bilbo did. I wouldn't lead you astray, you know that. I aim to help you any way I can. Have faith in _us_, Mr. Frodo," Sam ended, kissing his master's hand.

Underneath the skies of Aman, with sun-sparkle glittering on waves of blue in the background and Samwise, equally radiant in love and devotion beside him, Frodo felt he could weep for the blessings that had been heaped upon him. The fullness of his heart had rendered him momentarily speechless, though much that was not communicated in words was readily interpretable in his eyes.

"Sam," he said, his faculty of speech returned, "I have never for a moment lost faith in you. I have never doubted what we two could accomplish together. But if it had not been for you, what strength I have in me should have deserted me utterly, both then and now. All of my efforts should have been in vain if I had not had my Sam to carry me through the darkness. And now that you are here, I have found strength anew, strength that could hardly be believed in the wake of Bilbo's departure. You are right, Sam. I must not yield to despair. Whatever may come, I shall find courage to face it so long as you near me. But in bravery, in sheer bravery there is surely no hobbit that surpasses you, my dearest friend, whatever you might say. Samwise the stouthearted," Frodo intoned elegantly with an affectionate smile. Sam grinned back at him, the colour rising to his cheeks.

"There, we'll have to agree to disagree, begging your pardon," he answered. "But come now, no more talk of unhappy things. What say we go for a nice long walk and clear out all of this clutter that's taken up so much space in our heads? It's too lovely a day to be shut in behind closed doors, don't you think?"

"It certainly is. As a matter of fact, I think that it is one of the loveliest days that I have ever known in all of my years on this isle," Frodo remarked.

XXXXX

With a bit of gentle nudging, Frodo had persuaded Sam to walk with him along the outskirts of the Sea where the virgin sand twinkled under the white light of high noon.

"Don't be afraid, lad, I shan't run off again!" Frodo vowed, as Sam approached the perimeter of the water with a look of guarded mistrust. "You have nothing to be fearful of, for there is no evil in this water. Here you are, take my hand so that you may be contented."

Linked together as they were, Frodo and Sam strolled desultorily along the ocean's edge. Emboldened by his master's reassurance, Sam eventually permitted Frodo to lead him close enough to the Sea that its waters washed coolly over his furry feet as with a crystal film.

"You're right, Mr. Frodo, it's not so bad once you get a feel for it. Makes for a rather nice pick-me-up if I do say so myself."

Frodo smiled knowingly and cast a careless glance out toward the horizon. Then, he came to a stop quite suddenly and felt Sam's body tense instantaneously beside him.

"Mr. Frodo?" he called, doing a poor job of concealing his panic.

"Dear me, what an ass I am to startle you like that! No no, Sam, I am fine, perfectly fine! I only stopped because I saw a shape advancing on the water – look there," he pointed. Sam followed the line of his finger and indeed saw a dark speck some leagues away gliding on the ocean's glassy surface.

"Save me, but you mustn't scare me like that, sir! I nearly jumped right out of my skin when you'd stopped all a-sudden. But I see it now, sure enough. Why, it must be a ship, but who could be coming now, I wonder?"

"Let us wait and see!" said Frodo, and the two sat down in the sand together awaiting the seafarer's approach.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: It recently came to my attention that today is in fact Hobbit Day (hurrah!), so I was really keen on finishing this chapter in tribute to this "holiday" of sorts. It was a bit of a rush job, but I'm quite satisfied with the end result. Also, credit goes to wikipedia for supplying me with many of the details about Tirion. Anyway, happy reading, and happy Hobbit Day!

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**Chapter 6**

What began as a featureless spot no bigger than the head of a pin gradually resolved into the sleek-bodied shape of an Elven ship, its white timber and its fine workmanship a testament to the skill of the Teleri who are peerless in their craft. An easterly wind filled its sails luxuriantly, guiding its course like a kindly spirit breathing life into its once inanimate span of canvas. The curved bow of the ship cleaved through the water in an effortless line, straight and clean as a sword stroke. As it drew nearer, the intricacies of its construction were revealed in elegant swoops and graceful arcs, rendering the watching hobbits mute with wonder.

How slow the sands of time slipped past as Frodo and Sam waited for that great ship to make port on the embankment where they lounged! It was as though they were witnesses to a shared dream, a dream that unfurled in slow motion and whose edges were blurred with a white gauze that might have only been a trick of the Sun. And yet, when the ship had finally docked and the two hobbits rose to their feet, the Sun had hardly seemed to change its position in the sky, nor had the quality of the light undergone any noticeable alteration.

On board the ship was a modest crew of Elves who had manned that stately vessel, none of whom Frodo or Sam could place. Then, from out of their midst came one that was well-known to them both, and who they held quite close in friendship.

"Look, Mr. Frodo, the Lord Elrond's come!" Sam enthused.

And so he had. With a proud carriage he crossed over the platform that had been set down for him, clad in white raiment that seemed to deepen the shade of his long ebony hair by its stark contrast. They went over to greet him at once, their eyes still surcharged with astonishment.

"Suilaid, little masters," Elrond hailed.

"Suilaid, Master Elrond, and well met!" Frodo saluted back as Sam inclined his head and acknowledged him with an overawed 'M'lord.'

"Mae govannen, indeed, Frodo and Samwise. You are just the two that I was hoping to see."

"Goodness me!" Frodo said. "I am sure that I speak for Sam when I say that we are honoured that you should travel such a great distance on our behalf. Had I but known you were coming, I would have received you more graciously at home with food and drink."

"It is as well that you did not know of my coming then, for I have come to invite both you and Samwise to a feast that is to be thrown in Bilbo's honour this evening."

Frodo and Sam turned to one another in unison, each wearing an identical look of delighted surprise. Even Lord Elrond in all of his gravitas could not suppress an amused grin at the way the hobbits had received the news: eyes agog, mouths slightly agape, eyebrows raised at the marvel of it all.

"I hope that you are both quite up to another voyage across the Sea so soon. I know that your people have little love for seafaring, but I do not think I am wrong in believing you would be willing to make an exception for this particular event," said Elrond.

"Indeed, you do not guess wrongly!" Frodo laughed. "But to travel across the Sea with you and your fair retinue shall be no hardship at all, even for dear old Sam here who needs convincing to merely dip his toes in the water – though he will brave even the ocean deep when great need presses him," Frodo added, careful not to undercut the heroism that Sam had exhibited the night before last.

"Then it is decided: we shall make ready to depart as soon as you are prepared. We will await your command."

After bustling back home to be properly combed, scrubbed, and attired for a night of merry-making, Frodo and Sam boarded the ship with Elrond Half-elven, ablaze with enthusiasm for the night ahead.

"Can you believe it, sir, that we should get to dine with the Elves? I feel like my head's still spinnin' from the wonder of it!" Sam gushed as he and Frodo sat inside the ship's cabin.

"No, indeed, Sam; it is hardly to be believed," Frodo said, reaching out to fix Sam's upturned collar which he had neglected to notice in their eagerness to set off at once. "And you know, I really do feel now that the tides of fortune have changed for the both of us," he added, placing his hand on Sam's knee.

"So do I, Mr. Frodo. My old Gaffer used to say that the best news was the kind as you never saw coming, and I reckon we needed a bit of good fortune after that bad turn that we were dealt," Sam replied.

"And to think that only yesterday I thought that I should not travel to Valinor again, not unless it was the very last voyage I should take. I must confess I feel a confounded fool for thinking so now! To be on this ship bound for the home of the Valar, celebrating Bilbo's memory with food and friends, and to have you, friend of friends, here to share it all with me: why, I feel that I must be the luckiest hobbit that has ever lived," Frodo proclaimed.

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The ship having touched upon the shores of Valinor, the hobbits were led to the city of Tirion, its white-walled edifices purer than carved alabaster. Midmost stood Mindon Eldaliéva, the tower of Ingwë, wherein shone a silver lantern like a morning star, a guiding light for Elven wayfarers at Sea. They ascended the crystal stairs and passed through the gate into the city, treading paths that were laid as though with ground stardust. With Elrond at the head, Frodo and Sam came to the Great Square where towered Galathilion, the tree that was grown from the seed of Telperion that is no more, and in its boughs were strewn shimmering yellow lights by the hundreds. A pavilion had been erected there, and long tables laden with victuals had been prepared for their arrival.

"They've made it up just like the old Party Tree," Sam murmured, and tears of gladness sprang to the eyes of both hobbits at the memory of that momentous day so many years ago when Bilbo had given his infamous farewell speech. Frodo could see it all as clearly as if it had only been the day before: his uncle bathed in the light of the tree's lanterns as he stood above the heads of the party-goers, his hearty, rolling cadences as he delivered his good-bye address to his relations, the look of righteous indignation on the faces of all assembled when he had disappeared with a sudden flash of light.

"So they have, Sam," Frodo answered as a lone tear slid down his cheek.

XXXXX

Dusk had fallen when Frodo and Sam had sat down to dine, flanked on either side by Elves who were as living embodiments of twilight and sunrise, according to their kind. Elrond sat at the head of the table with his wife Celebrían to his right, an image of the Evenstar herself, with Frodo and Sam seated across from each other on either side of the couple.

"It takes your breath away, don't it, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, having finally resolved to push back his plate (at least for the time being).

"Yes Sam, you really ought to come up for air in between mouthfuls you know," Frodo responded wryly.

"All right, all right, I get the hint, I've put away more than is good for me. But I didn't mean that, sir – although the food is excellent as anything I've ever tasted, as my empty plate'll vouch for – I meant this place and everything in it."

"I was only teasing, Sam; eat to your heart's content! And yes, this city is the fairest that I have ever looked upon, fairer than anything I could have ever dreamed. And we have our gracious host to thank for allowing us to take part in the celebrations," Frodo said, turning to Lord Elrond with all due reverence.

"Not at all, Master Frodo, for we could have hardly held this feast if you had not been present. You are Bilbo's heir and are held in highest regard," Elrond answered courteously.

"I feel almost as though Bilbo walks among us now, so much am I reminded of him here. I am still in awe at how beautifully you have recreated the night of his eleventy-first birthday."

"It was a favourite story of his to recall, and we never wearied of the telling, so lively were his recollections. All was coordinated with your uncle in mind, and I am glad to know that you are pleased with the result."

"It's perfect," Frodo answered simply. "He would have been overjoyed to see it."

Once the plates had been cleared and the bottles had been stopped, a group of starry-eyed Elves gathered under the lighted tree, some holding harps or silver horns or other instruments of exquisite make, and others formed a choral line and waited for the first note to be struck with an ambient suspense. When the music began, Frodo felt as though his very soul had been transported above this plane of existence to rhapsodic heights, flying high above him like a kite loosely attached to the strings of his heart. Sam could find no fit words to describe the feeling that the Elves' ode to Bilbo had evoked and could only shake his head thoughtfully if he was asked to call it to mind afterwards.

The music of the Elves might have endured for minutes, hours, or days for all that the enthralled hobbits could tell, but when the last note had been sung, the last string plucked and the last horn winded, Elrond rose from his chair and addressed the crowd.

"My friends, my people, and my honoured guests, thank you for joining me in remembering the life of Bilbo Baggins this night."

"Hail Bilbo Baggins!" they called out in one voice.

"Bilbo dwelt long with me in Imladris that men call Rivendell, and was as dear to me as kin. In that time, I venture to say that I grew very well-acquainted with Master Baggins – though not so well as his true kinsman, the hobbit who he named his nephew, Frodo Baggins, who sits beside me. Please join me in welcoming him and his loyal companion Samwise to this gathering."

"Aiya Frodo! Aiya Samwise!" came the booming response.

"For those of you who were not as close in acquaintanceship with Bilbo, let me say a few words concerning his character. Bilbo Baggins was a lover of poetry, an accomplished writer, and a steadfast chronicler of Elven lore. He was a courageous adventurer, a rational head when trouble beset him, and was frequently given to jest when he was at his leisure. He was a devoted friend, a loving uncle, and a joyful spirit that the world will remember evermore. So the task falls to us to preserve his legacy and to commemorate his great deeds. A toast I now propose to the enduring memory of Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit whose heart, wit, and bravery exceeded the measure of his stature, and to the health and happiness of his next of kin."

The party stood from their chairs and raised their glasses above their heads.

"To Bilbo and Frodo, may the Valar be with them!" Elrond solemnized.

"To Bilbo and Frodo!" the crowd echoed, and they drained their cups down to the dregs.

"Now, friends, there has been one final treat planned before we all disperse. If you will, please direct your attention to Mithrandir, who has prepared a special display for this occasion."

Frodo heard Sam gasp audibly beside him with the foreknowledge of what this last entertainment was to be; and Sam had not been mistaken in his reckoning, for Gandalf had put together such a firework spectacle as to rival any that had been seen east of the Sundering Sea. Some there were that opened up like pink-petaled flowers and others that trickled down in sapphire waterfalls; there were rockets of gold and starbursts of green and Catherine wheels that changed colour in midair. He even reprised the scarlet dragon which had caused such a stir back in the Shire, and it snaked across the night sky like a tracery of fire, wheeling past the stars and vanishing with a peal of thunder. For the grand finale, Gandalf had created a likeness of Bilbo himself in glittering lights. He issued from a familiar round green door and strode across the infinite vault of the sky as though setting off on a great adventure, girded with an emerald cloak and the blue flame of Sting at his side. Then, he halted and waved to the audience, and with a bow vanished in a lilac smoke.

When Frodo lowered his eyes again, he saw that Sam's face was streaked with tears and was shocked to find that his cheeks were also wet from weeping. There was a momentary pause where time itself seemed held in abeyance, and then the Elves unleashed a gale of applause for the mastery of Gandalf's work. Frodo and Sam clapped also in the midst of their tears, and Sam set his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly and appreciatively. Thus marked the end of the feast, and a greater end none could have envisioned.

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Each of the Elven guests wished Frodo and Sam farewell personally, and many spoke kindly words in reference to Bilbo as they made ready to leave. Not the least among Frodo's well-wishers was the Lady Galadriel who had sat in attendance and had watched his face from afar as Gandalf's great spectacle had unfolded.

"My Lady," Frodo uttered with a bow, "I did not notice you among the company or I would have greeted you straight away."

"Worry not, Frodo, for you were at your ease and taken with the beauty of fair Tirion and so must be forgiven."

"Yet even the white city of Tirion cannot outshine the beauty of the Lady of the Golden Wood, and so I must accept at least some of the blame," Frodo answered. Galadriel laughed and placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"Such courteous words I have not heard since last I spoke with Gimli, son of Glóin. But indeed, I would have not missed this celebration for all the world. I am very glad to see you here and in high spirits."

"Thank you, Lady," Frodo replied, wondering how much she had known of his recent misadventure. "I am very well indeed. For here I have a light greater even than that of Eärendil to keep all darkness at bay," he averred, and took Sam staunchly by the arm.

"Truly spoken, Frodo! It is well that you have been commended to his care, for you have no greater ally in this life than Samwise of the Shire."

"I know it, and I will not allow myself to forget it," Frodo said firmly as Sam looked down at his feet in humility.

Gandalf came to them also, his eyes alight with pleasure.

"Well, we meet again, and so soon after our last parting," he said merrily. "I hope that the sight of me is not beginning to grow tiresome."

"Don't be silly, Gandalf, of course not! This night should not have been the same if you had not been a part of it. That was an incredible show you put on for us all."

"It was the most spectacular thing I've ever seen, Gandalf," Sam corroborated, unable to hold his tongue. "You got everything down to the last detail, even the door of Bag End and all! It brought me to tears, it did, and Frodo too, it was so beautiful. But see now, there's a few words I mean to have out with you, fireworks or no, and I'll not take no for an answer!" he said, growing suddenly serious.

"What's this?" Gandalf chuckled in spite of himself at the hobbit's authoritative, no-nonsense posturing. "Well I cannot fault you for spirit, Sam, though I must say I was not prepared to stand trial before you, in all of your wisdom. Well then, kindly inform me of the nature of my crime!"

"It's like this: poor old Frodo was beside himself thinking that he warn't going to get no better on account of a chat he had with you; but luckily I set him straight afore he could think of doing something he might regret."

"Sam!" Frodo cried out in mortification. "No, no, Sam, you impetuous old hothead, you mustn't blame Gandalf for all of that, for my problems were not of his making."

"There has been an objection!" Gandalf called out. "And I should object myself, if you will hear my case, my honourable hobbit." By this point, Sam was too flustered to articulate a response, so Gandalf continued without his consent. "The words I spoke to Frodo were truth, for I would not fain comfort him with a fair-sounding falsehood. But as to what will actually arise, I made no prediction, and indeed, did my part to dissuade him from any rash action. In fact – and Frodo will testify to this – I spoke quite convincingly on _your_ behalf as Frodo's greatest hope for recovery. Will you not now drop the charges you have leveled against me?"

"Aye, Gandalf sir, that I will. And I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn, it's just that I couldn't help myself, what with the state that Frodo had worked himself up to and me trying to get him out of this rut he'd dug himself in."

"Speak no more of it, Sam, for I believe the worst of your fears are now behind you. Take a look at your master if you need further proof. See how his eyes are clouded no longer with unspoken griefs, see how the cares that writ themselves upon his face have vanished, see how his carriage has improved and his colouring has brightened. No, I do not think that Frodo will be touched by any evil thing again, not anytime soon. But you must stay vigilant! These things have a way of slinking in at unawares if you are not mindful."

"I will, Gandalf, I swear to it!" Sam declared impassionedly.

"Good, good, you have quite relieved me of any lingering worry. And take care of yourself also, Sam, for Frodo is not the only one who has known the weight of loss."

With a chorus of goodbyes, Gandalf quitted them and committed them to Elrond's care.

"The hour has grown late, my friends, and I would have you stay here in the city for the night so that you may find rest. Tomorrow, a ship will be made ready to bear you home," said Elrond.

"A room has been prepared for you in the home that Elrond and I share here in Tirion," Celebrían said in a voice as sweet as birdsong but laced with a twinge of melancholy like a dewy teardrop clung to the surface of a leaf. "I trust that it will be to your liking." The hobbits bowed gratefully and were guided out through the Great Plaza to their new quarters, still intoxicated by the magic that they had witnessed, the food that they had partaken generously of, and the noble company of which they had been a part.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Elrond and Celebrían brought the hobbits to a spacious bedroom whose windows looked out on Ingwë's tower, a sentinel of white watching over them with the aid of its silver lamp. The roads below were bejeweled with tiny diamond fragments that glimmered under the moonlight, as if the paths were not of solid ground but, rather, liquid glass reflecting the stars above. The pillows seemed scented with a touch of jasmine, and the sheets were as supple as cream under their fingers. On each of the two beds had been laid out a pair of crushed velvet nightclothes, one embroidered with an 'F' in gold threading on the upper left breast pocket, and the other with an 'S'. Frodo turned to his hosts as his heart leapt within his chest.

"You were expecting us," he said, and the two inclined their heads in acknowledgment. "Truly, there is no limit to the hospitality of Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrían."

"Why, I feel as though I've come to the Last Homely House, or better!" Sam put in, fingering the satiny pajamas monogrammed with his initial.

"We are pleased that it will suit," Elrond responded smilingly. "And now we leave you to your rest. Sleep well, little masters, and may your dreams be blessed."

Frodo and Sam wished them a heartfelt good-night, and they withdrew into the dimness of the outer hall.

"Well how do you like that, Mr. Frodo? The Lord and the Lady going through all that trouble just to see to it that we were as comfortable as we could be. Oh, sir, this is a night I'll never forget so long as I live, even if I live to be as old as dear Mr. Bilbo!"

"Neither will I, Sam. It all seems almost as if it were too good to be true."

"But it's true enough, sir, or else the both of us are caught up in the same dream; that, or we've finally cracked at last!"

"No, I think not!" Frodo laughed. "If I were going to crack, as you so plainly put it, I daresay I should have done so a long time before now! And I am a good deal too tired to be asleep."

"Say no more then, sir, and let's to bed. Will you be all right by yourself, do you think?" he asked, eyeing their separate beds.

"Yes, Sam, I no longer have any fear for what the night may bring. And in any case, you shan't be far if I should need you. You enjoy sleeping in your own bed tonight."

"All right, sir, if you're sure. I'll be right here if you change your mind though, and don't think that it'd be any trouble to me. If there's anything you need, you just give me a holler."

Without further debate, the hobbits outfitted themselves in the sleepwear that had been so generously made for them, slipped under the covers and closed their eyes in near-perfect synchronicity.

"Good-night, Mr. Frodo."

"Good-night, Sam."

XXXXX

As Frodo lay sleeping, he seemed to see in his mind's eye a many-faceted white jewel falling, falling, end over end, a bright tear shed from heaven streaking the sky with a celestial afterglow. He reached out to it with open palms, his hands forming a shallow bowl, to salvage this gift from above. He would receive it, even as a basin receives water from the fountain, safely housing its liquid splendour. Its descent was slow as that of a feather, yet somehow he knew that its true weight would be greater than what it appeared to be. He raised his arms higher as it drew nearer, as though so small a reduction in distance would accelerate the moment of impact, and felt its stunning coldness strike his open hand.

He opened his eyes to a shadowy, unfamiliar room. It took him a moment to orient himself again as he rubbed his hands together, which felt as if they had been plunged into a river of ice water. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark and he saw Sam's sleeping form just across from him, a cosy mound of twilight-grey coverlets giving him away. From somewhere outside his room, he fancied that he heard a rustle of cloth, some hushed stirring that might have only been a product of his imagination. His natural inquisitiveness overtaking him and sleep temporarily eluding him, he pulled back the covers and settled his feet into the plushy carpeting underneath him. No sooner than he had touched upon the ground, Sam was up in a twinkling.

"Mr. Frodo?" he mumbled groggily, lifting his head.

"It's all right, Sam, go back to sleep," Frodo quieted him.

"Where're you going?"

"Not far, just to get a glass of water," he responded. Apparently satisfied, Sam dropped his head back onto his pillow and said no more. With soundless footfalls, Frodo sallied forth to investigate the source of the noise and find refreshment.

The corridors at this early hour were a setting in greyscale, thought the candlelit sconces mounted at intervals along the walls emitted little haloes of mellow orange here and there and helped to ease Frodo's passage in these unknown halls. He came at last to a large room with high, vaulted ceilings and a fireplace against the further wall wherein a guttering flame flickered drowsily. Drawn up beside the fire was a cushioned chaise longue in which a woman reclined, her eyes fixed upon the smouldering tongues of flame. She tilted her head presciently at Frodo's tentative approach and greeted him with unconcealed surprise.

"Frodo, I did not expect to see you out of bed at so young an hour! Did you find your rooms incommodious, that you should be stirred from sleep thus?"

"Not at all, Lady Celebrían – perish the thought! – for truly, there is no comfort that your house lacks. It was no more than a dream that roused me, and a strange one at that, and then I thought that I heard movement outside and well, here I am now. But, if I may, what finds you awake, Lady, or do the Elves not have need of sleep with the glory of the Valar to occupy their waking days?"

"It is true that the Elves do not take rest the way that you of mortal descent are wont to do, though all living things must find respite at times between the gradual progression of days unnumbered. Yet, respite is more easily gained by some than it is for others, as I think you well understand," she answered, with a hint of suggestion.

"Yes…I believe I do understand you, though I confess, I find your words rather troubling," Frodo answered slowly, his eyebrows knitted together in a look of enquiry. "Are you hard-pressed to find rest, as your words would seem to hint?"

Celebrían gazed down at her hands folded neatly in her lap, and Frodo was moved to pity to see one so high in a posture of such obvious vulnerability.

"Would you wonder at that, Frodo," she said after a pause, meeting his eyes again. "You who have looked upon that which I hold dearest to my heart?"

It was Frodo's turn to avert his gaze as he considered the Lady's position. He had not given thought to the fact that he had come to the shores of Valinor in Arwen's stead when he had entered the home her parents kept. Until now, he had not taken into account how his presence might strike an unpleasant chord with his host and hostess, they being who they were, how the very sight of him might rankle the hearts of those who had lost their greatest treasure and serve as a dismal reminder of the enormity of that loss. He suddenly felt very embarrassed and impertinent and sorely misplaced, and he rather wished he had stayed put in his bed so that he had not caused Celebrían any further distress.

"No, Lady, I suppose not, but it grieves me to hear you confirm it. I wish that I had fitting words to comfort you. I can only say that you could not have yielded her to a worthier man, or one who held her in higher esteem."

"So it has been said, though it pains me that I shall not have the chance to judge for myself. And so it is with heavy heart that I trust to the judgment of Elrond, for I do not doubt his wisdom, hard as the consequences may be. I have accepted Arwen's decision, but there is nothing that can allay a mother's grief at being forever sundered from her child." Her eyes strayed unseeingly toward the fire as the last fading flames threw alternating shades of lightness and dark on her face – Arwen's face – and tinted her golden hair in hues of reddish-orange and dusky black. "But it is discourteous of me to speak so freely of such things and to lay my own grievances at your feet. You have your own wounds to tend to and your own losses to endure. If I am more open with you than I ought, it is only because I feel a certain kinship with you, though it may surprise you to hear it."

Frodo _was_ surprised to hear it, having only been vaguely acquainted with Elrond's spouse and knowing very little of her personal history. He wished now that he had had more opportunities to know her better.

"I am flattered that you should feel so, though it is a compliment I am little deserving of, I fear, for the Lady Celebrían is so immeasurably high, and I am after all, rather small and quite ordinary by comparison," Frodo rejoined.

"Small? Ordinary? Nay, Frodo, your deeds stand higher and mightier than any among us, and I would not that one so praiseworthy should stand humbly before one such as I. But though I may never match you in courage, I believe I understand a little of what it is you have suffered. For I too have been pierced by instruments of the Enemy," she said and absently ran a finger across the exposed skin of her collarbone. The diminishing light of the fire revealed a small, jagged scar, white and translucent, that he would not have noticed had she not drawn attention to it. "It was orc-blade envenomed and black art of torture that brought me to these Western shores, for the pain of my injuries were a torment to me, though my Lord put forth all of his power to draw the poison from my body."

Frodo blanched in horror at the tale, his remorse at having been unfamiliar with her sufferings compounded twofold. He remembered the Morgul blade and the sickness that had ravaged him on Middle-earth on the anniversary of the day he had received his wound on Weathertop.

"And so, like you, Frodo, I know what it is to leave behind those that you love, though your heart cries in protest and your entire soul laments at the bitterness of the choice. I know what it is to watch all that you held dear recede and pass away until it is no more than a memory, unattainable and out of reach. I know the effort that goes into rebuilding a new life from the ashes of the old, of laying aside the person you were to make way for the person you will become. But one never really forgets," she said abstractedly, touching her shoulder and staring at a point somewhere past Frodo. Then, she remembered herself, and relaxed noticeably in her chair.

"Alas, I fear that I have upset you with these gloomy words, and that is not as it should be. You should be at rest while the night still persists, and at peace."

"If I could be of any assistance to you, my Lady, I would offer it most willingly. But you know, it has been my experience in this great country that when things seem at their darkest, the will of Eru has a way of intervening and giving us redress for our hurts."

"That is well said, Frodo, and I do not think you are wrong. It is hard though, sometimes, being bound to this world for as long as it should last, knowing that I may not move beyond its constraints even if only to glimpse my fair daughter one last time. For where her spirit will fly, I may not go. Do you believe, Frodo, that you will meet Bilbo and all of your old friends again once you have left the circles of this life?"

"Yes, I believe I will. I do not know in what form or in what manner, but I believe it as strongly as I have ever believed anything."

She was quiet for a moment, as though weighing some notion that had entered her mind, debating to herself if she should uncage it. Then, she spoke.

"You offered me your assistance, and so I will make but one request of you: if you meet Arwen in the next life, tell her that her mother loves her, and that she too would have relinquished immortality to be with her again."

Frodo nodded cursorily, blinking back tears.

"Thank you. You do me a greater service than you know. You have reminded me that Arwen's sacrifice was not in vain; for not only did she gain the love of a King among men, she delivered to her mother a friend in her time of need and healing to you who have deserved it more than most. Now then, let me help you find your way back to your rooms," she offered, rising from her seat.

She led him through the wide passageways, the dark of night now thinning to pale grey, and parted ways with him at the door. In the pre-dawn light, Frodo saw Sam huddled under his covers, his curly head sunk luxuriously in the feather pillows. He tried to imagine what it would be if he had never met his Sam again after boarding the ship that took him out of Middle-earth, he thought of what it would be to never look upon Bilbo or Merry or Pippin or Rose another time or to meet his friends' children or their children's children – but he could not imagine it, did not _want_ to imagine it. How did Celebrían face that dreadful certainty day after day? How did she resign herself to the fact that for her, there would be no reunion, no meeting of ways, no collapsing into the arms of the one for whom her heart yearned? As these questions coursed through his mind, Sam turned over in his sleep toward Frodo and opened his heavy lids.

"Frodo?" he murmured.

"Sam," Frodo said, that single syllable so rife with meaning. He dissolved at last into tears as he stumbled toward him, half-blind, and took him into his arms. Sam sat up in surprise, immediately responsive to his master's cry but maintaining a look of outward composure as his nurturing instincts took over. He enfolded him in his embrace, giving of his warmth, and stroked his head calmingly as Frodo wept into his shoulder.

"Sam, don't leave me. Don't leave me," Frodo said in a whisper.

"Never, Mr. Frodo. I'm right here. I've got you," he said softly, kissing the top of his master's head. It was not long before Frodo was still again, and drawing the covers around the two of them, Sam reclined back with Frodo's head settled on his breast. They slept without further interruption, locked in each other's arms as they were, until the new morning rose, phoenix-like, gilding the world in a sweeping masterstroke, evidencing the changeable beauty of Eternity.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Frodo became aware of a bloom of warmth against his cheek, a low-burning heat that travelled all the way down his side and had seeped into his very life-blood in an unnamable coupling of joint energies. He did not wish to rouse himself, for he feared that the slightest motion might dissolve this symbiotic union, that to stir from his spot would be to bring about a rending disengagement that would prove unutterably too much for his flesh to bear. The sure, steady patter of a beating heart filled the cavity of his ear as the sound of the ocean fills the pink interior of the spiral-shelled conch, and the cyclic exhalation of breath brushing the crown of his head was as the ebb and flow of the tides.

Then Frodo remembered where he was and coerced himself into wakefulness, breaking through the wavy, insulating surface of semi-consciousness and into the blinding tangibility of altertness.

"Good mornin,' Mr. Frodo. I was wondering when you'd be getting up."

"Dear oh dear, Sam, have you been waiting for me all this time? How long have you been awake?"

"Not long, sir, leastways not as far as I can tell. But time is tricky here, as you know, and hard to figure from one minute to the next. And at any rate, it seemed a shame to wake you, peaceful as you were. You had quite a night, and that's puttin' it lightly."

"Yes, about that, Sam… I hope that I did not disturb you overmuch, for that was not my intention. I was quite overcome at the time, as you could tell, though I do not think that now is the time to share all that I have learned. Suffice it to say that I was given a pointed reminder of how very blessed I am to have you with me, and how lost I should feel if you had not – or could not have – sought me out."

Sam was silent for a moment, inwardly pondering the implication of Frodo's phrasing. Strange that he should have qualified his statement the way he had: _could not have_. What could have possibly prevented Sam from taking that final leap and recovering that which had been lost?

"Now there, don't you go fretting about what could-a been or what might-a been. All that matters is that I'm here with you and you're here with me and there's nothing'll change that," Sam professed.

"Yes…yes, I believe you are right. But Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían will be expecting us up soon and we should not keep them waiting," Frodo resolved, throwing back the covers and pulling himself creakily to a standing position.

"Right, sir, up and at 'em, as the saying goes," Sam said briskly, though the something-left-unsaid in Frodo's admission had taken root in his mind and left a dubious impression on him that he could not quite dispel.

XXXXX

As the hobbits wended their way through the halls, Frodo was stricken by the difference that a few hours had made in the appearance of his surroundings. What once had been a phantom-world emblazoned with angular shadows and low candlelight like a range of soul-essences was now a palatial, tapestried interior, a sprawling kingdom of claret and gold.

"Good morning, master hobbits," Elrond greeted them when they had found their way into the very same room in which Frodo had conversed with Celebrían during the night. "I hope that it finds you well rested."

"Very much so, yes," Frodo submitted. "We thank you again for the generosity with which you have treated us and the excellence of our accommodations."

"You are most welcome. A ship had been readied early this morning which you may board after you have breakfasted, for I trust that you will be eager to return to your home after all of the events of yestereve. I am only sorry that you could not have remained here with me longer – indeed, I would have gladly kept you as my guests for as long as you wished – but the land of Valinor is not well-suited to those of mortal constitution, and I suspect that the power that flows through this country would prove difficult to withstand ere long."

Frodo nodded his assent, already sensible of the fact that things seemed to hum at a different pitch than he was used. The intensity of the morning light when he awoke seemed fiercer, unfiltered somehow, as though all elemental barriers between himself and the Sun had been lowered. He felt an unwonted energy surging through life and limb, a heat generating from his core that seemed to be emitted through the pores of his skin and the whites of his eyes. He felt rarified, exalted to startling heights, a heavenly body burning inside a hobbit form.

"I am afraid you're right. It is a shame, for I should have been very happy to tarry here longer with you and the Lady Celebrían who has moved my heart deeply and whose words have touched me near," said Frodo.

"Have they indeed? I did not know that you held converse together. Well then, perhaps you shall have occasion to speak further, for we two will be escorting you back to Tol Eressëa ourselves."

"That is more than kind of you, and I shall certainly take full advantage of this rare opportunity to talk at greater length with the both of you, if you will indulge me."

"We certainly shall," Elrond acquiesced. At that very moment, Sam's stomach rumbled audibly, and he shuffled his feet guiltily, head hung.

"That, I believe, is Sam's way of telling us that we have gone on long enough," Elrond laughed. "Never fear, Samwise, I shall delay you no further! There is food enough to satisfy even a hobbit's appetite. Come now, and take refreshment!"

XXXXX

For what might have been the first time since landing on the Western shores, Sam was having a difficult time concentrating on his breakfast. It certainly was not for lack of flavour or skillfulness in preparation, for the food was beyond reproach. It was something else entirely. It was something in the way that Frodo had come rushing unexpectedly through the door in the wee hours of the morning, something in the desperation in his plea as he begged Sam not to leave him, the way he cleaved to him as if he, Sam, might be borne away on the wings of an arbitrary wind if he did not hold him fast to the ground. He puzzled over what could have wrought such a dramatic change on his master who had previously laid down in contentment and ease.

"_He'd been having a chat with the lady of the house, that much he's already said. But what they talked about that got him so worked up I can't guess. And what'd he mean this morning by saying 'what if I couldn't've come?' Did he think that the Elves wouldn't have allowed it? But no, that can't be, he said his-self that I might follow him afore we parted at the Havens. And he can't have thought that I would have forgotten him, for I've often said how badly I wished to see him again. Then that leaves only one other thing that I can think of_," Sam mused as a shadow crossed his face. "_Is that it then? He thought I couldn't come on account of there_ was _no more Sam to be had?"_

His fork dropped to the table with a loud, metallic clatter. Frodo looked up from his plate anxiously and studied Sam's face with a discerning glance.

"You startled me, lad! Are you all right? You look as if you've seen a barrow-wight," Frodo asked.

"Er, yes, Mr. Frodo, sorry about that," Sam answered, pulling himself together hastily. "Don't mind me, clumsy old butterfingers that I am. I was just thinking of something else. But no matter, you finish up your breakfast. We've got another long day ahead of us."

Frodo held Sam's gaze for a moment longer, not quite convinced, and hesitantly returned to the business of clearing his plate. Sam picked up the fork he let fall and distractedly moved his food around to make some pretense of being preoccupied with completing his own meal. By now, however, his appetite had all but deserted him, his mind being too much engaged with the emergence of this new revelation.

Certainly, Sam had longed with all the fervour of his soul to be reunited with Frodo when the time arrived. His thoughts had turned to the West oftener than the Sun had taken its place there at eventide, and his heart had always been quite set on the eventuality of their reunion coming to fruition. But even Sam, fierce in loyalty and unwavering in friendship, could not have guaranteed that the time would come. He hardly could have left if his beloved Rose, jewel of his heart and apple of his eye, had lived, no matter how urgently the Sea called to him. As infirmity descended upon her and world-weariness waylaid her, had he not fallen down on bended knee and uttered prayers to Eru above to take him in her stead so that she might be spared? Had he not delayed some months in Middle-earth after she had succumbed, half-hoping that he might join her? Had he not held internal debate over where his rightful place was – in Valinor with his master, or in the Shire, to be buried beside his wife?

Sam had always taken it upon himself to drive out what apprehensions might afflict Frodo with a word of reassurance and a dismissive wave of the hand, but here was a fear that could not be so easily swept aside. Of course, Sam had made his decision, and if he had any doubts that he had not chosen rightly, they were dispersed the moment that he had taken Frodo into his arms at their first meeting. He knew in the way that Frodo's paling spirit had brightened as he held him, how his own heart had swelled with unimaginable joy, that things were as they should be. Frodo had told him then that he had come in the nick of time, though it had been a "near thing," in his own words. But perhaps it had been even nearer for Sam himself.

"_Well, it's like I told Mr. Frodo, there's no sense in thinking on what might have happened if things had turned out different. Things are as they are, and I hope that we're all the better for it_!"

Still, he did not relish the idea of being confronted by his master with these new qualms if it came to that and if he had guessed aright at the problem's source.

"_He's had enough to take up his mind with adding new worries to the pile_," he reflected.

"Sam?" Frodo's voice cut through his reverie.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"You have been playing with that same bit of egg for some time now, and I am beginning to grow antsy. Are you not still hungry? For I haven't seen anything leave your plate for these last several minutes"

"Well, I s'pose there's a first time for everything, Mr. Frodo, for – wouldn't you know it – I feel as though I couldn't take another bite if you forced me to it. Must be all that rich Elven food we had at Mr. Bilbo's feast that's done it. I hope that those as made it don't take it to heart, but there it is, sir, I'm just that stuffed. Anyhow, we'd best be getting ready to go on that great ship, for I'd like to get that part out of the way sooner than late if it's all the same to you," Sam responded.

"Still worried about the passage across the Sea, are we? Ah, never fear, Sam, we'll make a sailor out of you yet – already you are becoming quite practiced in the ways of seafaring," Frodo said, hoping to lighten the mood in the wake of Sam's uncharacteristic refusal of food.

"I don't know about all that, Mr. Frodo, but I can abide it well enough. But if we're to be flouncing about atop the water, then all the better to pack lightly, if you take my meaning," Sam said, patting his stomach to illustrate his point.

"I do indeed! But I think you can depend upon there being precious little 'flouncing' with the Elves piloting our vessel, for their course runs ever straight and smooth, as you should know by now."

"That may be, Mr. Frodo, but I'll breathe easier once I've got my feet planted in good solid earth again, all the same, meaning no disrespect to the Elf-captains," Sam declared.

And with one last look of contrition at the uneaten portion of his morning repast, he pushed back his chair and shelved his misgivings for the time being.

XXXXX

With a robust trade wind to fill the ship's sails and steer their course true and a shining sun to ensure a fair and auspicious voyage, the company shoved off toward the isle of Tol Eressëa. As promised, the Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrían had embarked with the hobbits, and Sam had nearly forgotten that he had left the terra firma he so loved behind him as he looked in wonderment at the breathtaking figure that they cut with the gold of the Sun at their backs and the blue of the Sea at their feet. They were as two sculptures of adamant whose porcelain skin could admit no blemish and whose beauty was made to endure the weathering of years. Their stillness and unearthly immovability was only offset by the rippling motion of their raiment and their flowing hair entwined like a gold-and-raven daisy chain.

Sam turned to Frodo after a time with a sigh.

"One thing I'll say about sailing, it's that it's a lot pleasanter when you're in the company of the Great Folk. I almost feel as though I could come to_ like_ it."

"Did I not say that we would make a sailor of you yet?" Frodo boasted with a broad grin. "I shouldn't be surprised if you took the helm yourself soon."

"Slow down, sir, I did say _almost_, you know," Sam shot back. "Let's not be getting too far ahead of ourselves." Frodo laughed jovially and draped an arm around Sam's shoulders.

"So you did. One thing that _I_ will say about sailing, Sam, is that it is much pleasanter when I have _you_ to keep me company," Frodo echoed. Sam looked sidelong at Frodo and smiled gratefully, as he set his arm around his master's waist. The hobbits stood there at the foreground of a paradise cast in the intermingling blue of ocean and sky when the advancement of lighter-than-air footsteps on the wooden planks of the ship caught the attention of their keen hobbit ears.

"Suilaid, master hobbits; it pleases me to see you enjoying the majesty of the Sea and the beauty of this day that the Valar have graced us with," Elrond greeted them with Celebrían standing impressively at his side. Frodo and Sam released their hold on one another and faced them, Frodo with eyes a-sparkle and Sam with demure obeisance.

"Very much so, yes," Frodo replied. "It seems that no matter how many glorious sights one is likely to see in Valinor from one moment to the next, their beauty is never diminished in the eyes of those that observe them. For just when I think I have seen the greatest beauty of all, another is presented to my wondering eyes that seems to excel the last. And so it is with you, Lady Celebrían, whose loveliness is a joy to behold, if the Lord Elrond will permit me to say so."

"Indeed, my Lord should not begrudge such fair speech, Frodo, son of Drogo, for your words do me great honour," Celebrían said. "And I am relieved that you should still hold me so high in favour, for I feared that my speech with you might have left a remnant of lingering discomfort, and my heart was sorely grieved that I might be responsible for driving a wedge between us."

"No, my Lady, nothing could be further from the truth!" Frodo exclaimed emphatically. "How could I not be moved by your openness and your heart's desires laid bare? Cruel is he who would turn his face away from one so worthy of admiration and so deserving of compassion!"

"Yet, I fear that my words were not meet, though it was a comfort to me to have such speech with you as I did."

"Then I am happy to have helped, if only in some small way. I only hope that my presence was not partly responsible for chafing at a sore spot, for I have not forgotten the Lady Arwen's role in arranging for me to live amongst you, and I am ever thankful for her aid."

Something stirred in his memory then, some image from a forgotten time or a half-remembered dream, and with it came a moment of scintillating epiphany.

"But, Lady Celebrían, I think that there is some other way that I might be of further assistance to you, in some measure. Would you and the Lord Elrond be so kind as to join me and Sam at our home when we have landed, just for a short while? There is something I wish to give to you ere you depart, for I do not know when we will see each other next."

"Already you have been most liberal in your beneficence, Frodo, and I would ask nothing more of you," Celebrían began. "But if you desire it, then gladly will I answer your request."

"And so would I, my friend," Elrond seconded. "But do not think that either I myself or my wife would have any grievance with you for coming where our daughter could not, for her choice was made long ago of her own free will. That you should remain with us here is a blessing unlooked-for and has assuaged our sorrow greatly in light of Arwen's absence."

XXXXX

As Sam listened in self-effacing silence to the conversation between Elrond and Celebrían and his master, he began to understand the true nature of Frodo's behaviour the night prior and what had instigated his actions. At the mention of the Lady Arwen's name, the connexion had become quite clear, and Sam could have slapped a hand to his forehead for not thinking of it sooner.

"_So that's what it was all about after all, Sam, you hopeless, dunderheaded old oaf! How could you go and let yourself forget a thing like that? For shame! The Lord and the Lady parted from their only daughter and nothing that can be done about it…" _he trailed off as his heart seemed to clench within him. "_Parted for…forever? That can't be right – can it? That's hard, _too_ hard I should think. The Great Ones wouldn't allow that, would they? They wouldn't keep a parent from their child for always_?"

His thoughts turned to his own children, his beautiful, happy daughters, his merry, strapping sons, and something inside of him seemed to quail. Sam already knew how achingly difficult it was to be separated from his loved ones, how painful it was to be denied direct communication with his family, the pride of his life, but that such a separation should be permanent was a notion too awful to comprehend.

"_But that can't be what's to become of _us_, surely? I'm still a hobbit after all and not Elf-kind, though I think I may have gotten a taste of what it's like to be an Elf back there in Valinor and it was nearly more'n I could swallow. I will see them again, won't I?"_

The deeper he reflected on the subject, the lower his spirits seemed to drop, and he was obliged to thrust his hands into his pockets to hide his trembling hands. He cleared his throat in as offhand a manner as he could contrive and did not speak again until their ship had anchored on Tol Eressëa


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Sam stepped onto the quay, the knot that had formed in his stomach giving no indication of untightening. Frodo had elected that they walk the distance home, it being such a beautiful day, and normally Sam would have been all in favour of the proposal. But in his present state, all he really wanted was to go home with all speed, and he wished that they had chosen to call a carriage rather than be delayed any longer than necessary. But he held his tongue, loath to oppose his master's wishes or give offence to the Lord and the Lady who trailed behind them. It was a very subdued Samwise that trundled alongside Frodo, though he made as valiant an effort as he could to keep up appearances.

"Are you quite sure all is right with you, Sam, my lad? You have been unusually quiet today," Frodo asked confidentially.

"Right enough, sir," Sam answered, after a brief hesitation. Seeing the uncertainty etched on Frodo's face, he felt compelled to elaborate. "I reckon I'm still coming down from all the to-do and the Elvish charms and suchlike. It's a lot to take in all at once, if you understand me, and I think it's all sort of catching up with me."

"You should have said something before, Sam, or else I would have made other arrangements! But do not worry, we will be home soon," Frodo consoled, giving Sam's arm a rallying squeeze.

"Now there, Mr. Frodo, I wouldn't-a heard of it. A bit of fresh air ought to do me some good," said Sam placatingly and resolved to say no more on the subject, especially while Elrond and Celebrían were still within earshot.

XXXXX

Back at the hobbits' home, Frodo had just put on a kettle of tea for his venerable guests as Sam rustled up an assortment of light, flaky pastries and seed-cake for their delectation, despite the fact that the Elves had insisted against their taking any undue trouble over them.

"Not a bit of it!" Frodo contradicted them as he carried the steaming, aromatic cups to his visitors and Sam set down the dessert tray on the coffee table. "It is the least we can do after all the hospitality you have shown us. And besides, walking is hungry work, as Bilbo would say."

"True, and when it came to the observance of meal-times, your uncle was always strictly punctual in my house, as a rule," Elrond said fondly.

"I can believe it," Frodo chuckled, "for there are few even among hobbits who could equal him in his appreciation for a good meal, I think. Save perhaps Sam here," Frodo remarked humourously, with a playful wink. Sam put down the seed-cake he had been nibbling perfunctorily at – for his stomach was little more disposed to taking in food than it had been this morning – and crimsoned as he brought a napkin to his lips in comical startlement. The company laughed good-naturedly as he mirrored their levity with his own self-conscious smile. At the rate he was going, he was not giving much credibility to Frodo's claim.

"I did not mean to put you on the spot, Sam. I hope that I am forgiven! But now, getting back to Bilbo," Frodo resumed, turning again to Elrond and Celebrían. "I cannot sufficiently impress upon you how wonderful last night's event was. Truly, I could think of no better way to commemorate his life, and I am sure it would have been a source of immense satisfaction to him to see so many great people gathered for his benefit."

"It was owing to the aid of many that last night was made possible, and much of your praise belongs with the Elves of Valinor, and of course with Mithrandir who I trust you have consulted with already," Elrond replied. "Bilbo's well-deserved fame and the measureless breadth of his impact upon the world demanded an exceptional celebration. I am glad that you have deemed our efforts a success."

"Your efforts surpassed my wildest imagining, and it will be a memory that I cherish forever. Which brings me to why I asked you here," Frodo said importantly, his hands folded in his lap. "As you might have heard, I was visited by certain misfortune on the morn that marked the day of Bilbo's leave-taking. I was pained at the thought of being unable to remember him properly with what seemed so great a gulf between us, and so my unwitting mind took action to rectify that, to my detriment. Who knows what would have happened if Sam did not come rushing in to my rescue? But never mind, it is enough to say that we escaped from the ordeal quite unharmed, albeit considerably shaken. Then, Elrond came with news of Bilbo's feast as though in answer to a prayer I did not know that I had uttered. I tell you all of this because my discussion with you, Lady Celebrían, reminded me of how needful the act of remembering is – and how perilous also when remembrance gives way to despair. I took your story to heart and was reminded very much of my own. I thought of how terrible it was to remember the wounds that were inflicted upon me in Middle-earth, just as yours were a bane to you. But remembering those that you have loved and lost is not cause for grief, nor reason for surrender. Though loss is a kind of scar in itself, it is not one that festers with time or unmans us with its pangs. It is a reminder of a happiness, not of a sorrow, though sadness may yet strike at whiles, as it invariably does. Remembering Bilbo as we all did last night has helped me to arrive at this realisation. But I was also reminded of how important it is to have someone to support us, the way that Sam does for me and I am sure that Lord Elrond does for you. And not just support us, but to share in the memories of those who are no longer with us and so help us find peace of mind and return to a state of grace. To dwell on all that you have lost is to succumb to grief and madness and perhaps worse. You must remind yourself instead of all that you _do_ have, the people who are still with you and the joys that are still to come. But there is something else that might be of some help, something that might lessen the distance between you and Arwen a little. If you would excuse me for just a moment," he said, getting up from his chair.

Celebrían turned to her husband with expressive eyes, conveying at once a sense of tearful amazement and dawning hope. They clasped their hands together and spoke no words aloud, for none were needed. Sam looked down into his lap.

Frodo returned moments later grasping something in his closed hand.

"I had almost forgotten that I still possessed this," he said, uncurling his fingers and revealing a dazzling light. Resting in his palm was a sparkling white pendant shaped like a star hung from a chain of silver. "Arwen gave this to me long ago. She told me then that it would help ward off darkness when ill memories laid hold of me, but it is long since I have had need of it. It belongs to you, and I would have you receive it in memory of the Evenstar, the daughter who, though not here in body, will be with you in heart."

He held out the stone to Celebrían, who looked in wonder first from the gemstone then back to Frodo's eyes.

"Can I accept such a gift?" she said, her voice rich with emotion.

"I insist that you do," said Frodo, and taking her hand gently, deposited the necklace therein and folded her fingers over it.

"How might I give expression to the depth of my gratitude to you, Frodo?" she said, after a gravid silence. "How could my faltering tongue be equal to the task of voicing my heart, grown so inexpressibly full?"

"You need not try, Lady, for seeing you as you are now is all the thanks that I require," Frodo answered. "And as I said, Arwen's stone belongs to you; it is with its rightful keeper, as it should have been long before now."

"The stone is a marvelous thing indeed, Frodo, and a priceless memento of my daughter's grace that I shall keep about me always. But even greater than this gift is the wisdom of your words, so movingly spoken. I shall never forget them. And I will take courage from your own strength, and refuse to be cowed by cares that I am powerless to remedy, or let the sting of old aches consume me with their poison. And if darkness presses too close or hovers too near, I will look to my Lord for solace," she said, turning again to Elrond with tear-glossed eyes.

"And I will look to my Lady," Elrond vowed. She bowed her head to him as their hands met. Sam snuffled noisily as he drew out his pocket handkerchief. The sound seemed to lift the emotional heaviness with its volubility, and Celebrían looked to him warmly, brushing away an errant teardrop of her own with a slender finger.

"Here now is another wrong that I must answer for! For now it seems that I have upset Sam in naming my afflictions," she said.

"Don't mind about me, Lady," Sam said huskily, blotting at his eyes. "I didn't mean to burst out all a-sudden, but I couldn't hold it in. It's just, your story really got to me – right here," he said, placing a hand over his heart, "me being a parent myself and all."

He sniffed again as a fresh twin-track of tears manifested on his face.

"Then you of all people can understand what I have felt, and I am deeply sorry that you should know of this heartache," Celebrían empathized. "But for you there is yet hope that you will be with your children again."

"And there is hope also for us, my love," Elrond reminded her, "hope that our sons, Elladan and Elrohir, may come to be with us also if they so choose."

"But…isn't there any hope for Arwen, then?" Sam asked meekly. "It just seems to me that something might be done, if the Great Ones had a mind to do it, for they're not called 'great' for naught."

"Who among us can say?" said Elrond. "Such knowledge is known only to Ilúvatar; it is our part only to bear out his judgment, whatever that may be. But for us, Celebrían and I, it will be a long sentencing, for we are tethered to this world until the utmost ending of days. You, at least, shall have release when you grow weary of earthly toils and you are ready to receive the gift to which all mortals are entitled. It has chanced by evil design that some now look upon the Gift of Men with fear and trembling – but do not be deceived by such grim forecasts. Rightly is it named a gift, and there are many even among the Elves who would fain share in this fate. But I think now that my wife and I are better prepared to endure our own fate having come here today."

"Indeed," Celebrían affirmed, "and I am very glad that we did. But I am afraid that we must soon be on our way."

"But must you really go so soon?" Frodo enquired disappointedly.

"Yes, we must, as much as we would like to remain among you longer," Celebrían replied. "But we have already stayed longer than we intended and our crew will be awaiting our return. It has been a pleasure and an honour to have been received by you, and I hold you both as dear as family. I purpose to remain in close contact with you both, and I hope that it will not be so long until our next meeting."

XXXXX

Frodo and Sam stood waving from their porch as Elrond and Celebrían departed, hand in hand, the star-stone of Arwen shining radiantly on the Lady's breast, until they were lost to sight. Had they remained standing outside until the Elven ship bore them away, they would have seen that same diamond heliograph intermittently as the beams of the Sun collided with it, charting their progress for many miles. However, the hobbits went back inside, closing the door behind them, and set about clearing the tea-trays and the uneaten dainties.

As Sam stood at the kitchen sink washing out the used teacups, Frodo came up beside him.

"Let me give you a hand and dry those off when you are ready," he said, snatching up a dish towel.

So concentrated was Sam on his chore, seemingly, that he had not even been aware that his master was in the same room with him. Consequently, Frodo's voice beside his ear had alarmed him with its nearness, and he dropped the fragile little cup that was in his hands. He fumbled to recover it, but was too late; onto the floor it shattered in so many splintered shards.

"Now I've gone and done it," Sam muttered to himself, and crouched to the floor hurriedly to collect the pieces, rather conspicuously avoiding Frodo's eyes.

"No, no, Sam, that is a sure way to give yourself a nasty cut," Frodo reproved. "I'll go fetch the dustpan and brush and…" But the thought evaporated as Frodo looked down on Sam's face, half-hidden as it was. His nose and cheeks were flushed with emotion, his face tacky with a coat of fresh tears recently spilt. His eyes were firmly fixed on the spot where the teacup had fallen, but they briefly flashed upward when Frodo had stopped mid-sentence. Sam looked hastily away again off to one side at goodness knew what and bit his lip.

"Sam!" Frodo cried, squatting down beside him so that their eyes were on a level. The china fragments that Sam had collected in his hand dropped to the ground with a tinkling sound. With his other hand, he covered his brow and began to sob, shielding his eyes as the strangled sounds of his whimpering betrayed him.

"What is it, Sam? Come, let's get someplace more comfortable. Mind the broken pieces; we'll see about that later" Frodo coaxed him, standing up and offering his two hands so that Sam may raise himself also. Sam took them, swallowing back another sob, as Frodo led him to the sitting-room and sat him on the settee.

"There now, that's a little better," Frodo said, taking a seat next to him. "My poor Sam, you have been out of sorts all day and I fear that I have been neglecting you. Would that I had not been so careless! Come here, lad," he said holding out his arms to him as Sam collapsed compliantly into their sanctuary. A redoubled bout of sobs wracked his body as Frodo held him tighter still, rubbing his back and hushing him tenderly with heartening words. He drew back when Sam had quieted and laid a hand on the side of his face.

"Tell me everything, Sam," Frodo entreated him.

Sam took a deep breath.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

When Sam had seen Elrond and Celebrían off with Frodo from their front door, he had sent unspoken wishes up to the Ainur that they would find the peace that they sought in good time, and he took the stone that flashed and flickered upon its chain as a bright guarantee of the Valar's benevolence and a symbol of faith restored. He put in a good word for Arwen also, that the remainder of her days would be joyful and fulfilling, and that she should not repent of her choice though her time was no longer without limit. Most profoundly of all, he prayed for the happiness of his children, prayed that they could feel the fervour of their father's love though inestimable miles lay between them.

He helped Frodo with the tidying up mechanically, mulling over Elrond's words all the while. The concept of forever was one that had suddenly become disquieting to him, a source of couched and looming dread, for it seemed that eternity was a fathomless chasm yawning before him. What did forever really mean? Elrond had said that there would be relinquishment from this plane of existence for Sam when he desired it, when he grew "weary of earthly toils," to use his exact words. But what then?

For Elrond and Celebrían and all Elf-kind, the question of forever was quite unambiguous. They would remain in Arda as they ever have and ever would, until the hands of Time itself ceased to turn, if that should someday transpire. But for Sam, forever meant a headlong plunge into an unknown and inscrutable obscurity. It meant a surrendering of himself to an indeterminate fate, a journey to an undisclosed destination, an incomprehensible transmigration of his soul. Sam wondered to himself which was more frightening: the fear of enduring, of watching the world shift and alter for age after endless age, or the fear of fading away, never to know what the future held? Elrond had said that there were some among the Elves who envied mortals of their fate, that death was not a doom but a catharsis, a liberation, a _freedom_. But to Sam, it seemed that an expedition into an uncharted and unexplored territory was more worrying still.

It was not for himself that he was principally concerned, however. It was for the people that he loved. Who knew what they would be subject to when the moment arrived? Once they had crossed over into the great beyond, how could he be certain that they would be found? Was Rose waiting for him there patiently, or was she lost in an eddying flux of departed souls striving to find their place in the order of the universe? Who would take care of her if Sam could not – who would look after Frodo, or his children when their time came for that matter?

He stood before the sink, rinsing out the china cups, and a waking vision marched strangely before his eyes. He was back in the Shire, running through green meads and violet heather on a clear morning, running toward little Elanor, no more than three years of age, who toddled unsteadily towards him with outstretched arms. Her golden curls bobbed springily underneath springtime sunshine, and her tiny hobbit feet seemed hardly to disturb a single blade of grass in her lightness. But there was a tremor in the earth, and even as Sam struggled to keep his footing, Elanor toppled forward, and was brought to hands and knees. Stunned, she sat down in the grass and began to cry, and Sam cried with her, for their pain and fear was interconnected. The ground was being rent apart, he realised, and livid vapours rose from the fissures in insidious, serpentining arabesques. Elanor's wails grew louder, more desperate, as he skidded to a halt, rendered helpless and stupefied.

"Let me give you a hand and dry those off when you are ready," a voice at his side struck him like a bolt from the blue.

His hold on the cup had slipped in his disconcertment, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the delicate thing plummet. He could not have said precisely why, but suddenly it became imperative that he was not responsible for its destruction, and he snatched at it clumsily so that it might still be salvaged. He must not let it break! But no, he had acted too late, was too ham-fisted in his groping endeavour; it was already beyond his grasp. He flinched as the little porcelain cup smashed to the floor, the sound amplified in his ears, and the pretty piece of dishware was reduced to a small heap of scattered, fractured debris. He cursed himself for his carelessness, stooping to the ground as Frodo tried to dissuade him from handling the broken pieces. For a moment, a mad notion flitted through his head: that he could yet piece the cup back together with a little resourcefulness, that he could make reparations for his blunder if he wanted it badly enough.

Frodo had stopped speaking, but Sam had not wished to give himself away, did not want Frodo to see him like this. But their eyes connected for the briefest of seconds, and it was all up. Frodo came down to him, and Sam broke down at last, his tears mixing with the ruined china, raining down like broken pieces of his own spirit, and finally allowed himself to be led away.

XXXXX

"Tell me everything, Sam."

All of the questions that he had entertained, all the uncertainties that had ransacked him, all the heart-soreness that had constricted him flashed through his mind in the space of a millisecond.

"Well, sir, it's hard to know as where to begin," said Sam, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. "There's been such a powerful lot of ideas runnin' through my head since this morning. It's hard to get 'em all squared, if I'm making myself plain."

"Then start at the very beginning, Sam, for what better place to start than that?" Frodo counseled.

"All right, Mr. Frodo. I'll try. I guess it all began when we were in Elrond's house, and you newly waked-up. You said something that didn't seem to make much sense to me at the time, though I know you meant well and good by it. But it got me to thinking, and maybe that's where I went wrong in the first place; for I've often said my head's not the best part of me." Frodo looked at him remonstratively but allowed him to continue, not wanting to interrupt. "I was thinking of when you said: What if you (meaning me, you understand) couldn't-a come to the Elvish lands? Well, that just about did me in, sir; if I hadn't been lying abed it would-a knocked me right off-a my feet! I tried to work out in my head what you meant by it, seeing as how I always aimed to come, when I could. And then it came to me that maybe I _couldn't_ have if things had turned out different."

"But they did not, Sam, as you promptly reminded me this morning," Frodo said. "But even if it _had_ turned out differently, even if you could not have brought yourself to leave Middle-earth, if the time had not been right or the hour too late, I would have fully understood. As a matter of fact, I had all but reconciled myself to the idea that you _would_ remain there, for it seemed to me that many years had already passed, though I did not know their true number, and that you would wish to remain in the homeland that you loved above all other places. I certainly would never have asked you to uproot yourself from the Shire if you were not fully prepared to take so decisive a step. How could I have faulted you for wishing to be amongst the family you raised and the friends you have kept? What sort of friend would I be to make such a demand or set such an expectation on your head? No friend at all, that's what kind! So do not give it a second thought, Sam. Whichever way you had chosen, I would have known that you had chosen what was best for you. And that is all that I ever wanted."

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, you know that that's all I wanted for you too – the very best," Sam said impassionedly. "And it ate me up inside not knowing for sure one way or the other whether you were getting it. And so I had to come, _had_ to make sure that you were taken care of, and a good thing too; for what was best for me turned out to be what was best for you, as luck would have it."

"That has always been my feeling, Sam, ever since you arrived. But seeing you as you were today, I wondered if you had not had some regrets about leaving Middle-earth – and none could blame you if that proved to be the case."

"Regrets? No, sir, never!" he said emphatically, shaking his head. "Not for one moment, so don't you think it. It's not that, Mr. Frodo, that's working on me. It's what comes after. After all of this. Now I don't plan on going on for forever, and I 'spect I couldn't even if I wanted to. I know Lord Elrond says that…that having a way out, if you like, is a gift, and far be it from me to go against his word. But nobody says where we're headed to once we've gone, or what we'll find when we get there. So, I guess what's got me torn up is just this: what's to become of us, Mr. Frodo? You and me, and all the people who've gone before us and will come after?"

The air was charged with expectancy as Frodo strove to make some answer. Had he not been plagued with similar anxieties only the night before? Wasn't the thought of being parted from Sam, from Bilbo, from all of his loved ones what drove him into Sam's arms in a fit of tears? And wasn't it strange that he had never had an open discussion about a question so enormous, so monumental, and so unclear with anyone before today? Not Bilbo, not Gandalf; no one. Now Sam had given him an opening, a lead-in to what might be the biggest question that they had yet tackled. But how was he to answer?

"_With the truth, of course_," Frodo thought. And so he spoke.

"Those selfsame riddles have sprung to my mind too, Sam. I have posed the same questions and voiced the same concerns in secret. I think that the first time I really began to look for answers, when I really considered what would befall in the hereafter in earnest, was when Bilbo passed away. I remember it being one of my chief apprehensions at the time, whether I would find him again. But there were none who I could consult with that could provide me with any concrete explanations. Even the Valar, they say, do not know what occurs when we have moved beyond the boundaries of this world. And certainly, I, Frodo Baggins, a simple hobbit from Hobbiton have no special knowledge or insight on the matter. It is a question that is beyond even the Great. It seemed to be a closed case right from the start.

"But that did not seem satisfactory to me. I needed something more to go on, some definable hope to latch onto. I was forced to look inward – for what other alternative was there? – limited as I was and little as I knew. And so it is, Sam, that I can make no claims about anything that you have asked of me, for the reasons that I have stated. I can only tell you what I believe. I cannot say whither we will go when we have severed these mortal ties, but I _can_ speak about how my own experiences have informed my faith. I may not have much to offer in the way of certitude, but I do have a thing or two to say of conviction.

"If you will oblige me, let us revisit what some might refer to as _ancient history_. By that, of course, I mean my own history, which seems to stretch a very far way back now that I have come to this stage in my life. Consider, Sam, your old master, when he was a very young lad, only twelve years of age. That lad was orphaned, hapless, and (quite understandably) distraught by so untimely a tragedy, as you can well imagine. And what happened to that lad? After spending some years at Brandy Hall, he was adopted by Bilbo Baggins, and he was given a new lease on life. He had finally found his foothold, had finally realised his identity, and he was _happy_.

"Consider that that same hobbit, a lad no longer, is told that he has in his possession a thing so dangerous, so full of unforeseen malice that he must go forth at once into strange lands whose very name is enough to set even a fledgling traveller's teeth on edge. He has resolved to fly into the very heart of darkness, ill-prepared as he is, and set himself against a foe whose wrath was enough to make even Elves and Wizards quake with fear. And what happened when he set off? His friends volunteered themselves – nay, imposed themselves upon him – so that they might take the journey together, no matter how far. The hobbit had companions, friendship, people that he could trust to ride out the storm with him, and he was moved by their devotion.

"Now consider that this hobbit, against all likelihood, succeeds in his mission. Succeeds! But not alone, of course, for he has never been alone. No, he succeeds with the help of a hobbit whose daily courage and unfaltering loyalty is a thing to be marveled at. He succeeds also with help from unlikely places, by the valour of distant friends and the cunning of would-be foes nearer at hand. But when he and his companion have completed their task and the fires of doom are singeing at their very heels and all seems over, what do you suppose happens next? They are borne away on the wings of the Eagles. They are rescued. They are _alive_. And the hobbit rejoices.

"Suppose now that this hobbit has sustained grievous injuries whose pain is an enduring agony to him. Suppose that he knows in his heart that he can never settle back comfortably into his old life, not after the way he has been changed. What is to become of him now? He is given permission to sail the Straight Road to the Undying Lands where he may find healing and succour, along with his uncle, the only two hobbits who have ever, as yet, gazed upon the haven of the Elves. He is prepared to take that trip, and he is at peace.

"Now imagine that this hobbit has grown much aged, and his uncle even more so. Said uncle has grown increasingly weary, and is ready to take his leave, and the old hobbit must weather it as best he can. And when he feels he has reached his very lowest, when he is shadowed by persistent loneliness and feels as though he cannot continue onward, his best of friends comes to him, comes right through his very doorway, and tells him he has come back to him.

"What I am trying to tell you with all of this, Sam, is that whenever hope was at its lowest ebb, when the darkness seemed too enveloping and the possibility of continuation all but impossible, I have found deliverance. When my parents were drowned, Bilbo was there to hoist me up from the slump of despondency. When I was summoned to the Quest, I had my friends to accompany me and help me find safe passageways. When the Mountain of Fire had conquered me, I had you to put me on your back and carry me the distance. And the list goes on. So you see, no matter how bleak the outcome appeared, no matter how improbable success was or unlikely recovery seemed, there has been some other will which has proven me wrong. There has been a power greater than any I have yet encountered that has kept watch over me, a guardian that has provided me with just what I needed to move past adversity and so be redeemed. I do not know why this power has seen fit to do so, why I would be deemed worthy of such bounteous rewards, but such has been my fortune. And that is why I have faith.

"So I ask you, Sam, hobbit of hobbits, would such a power forsake me in the end, when I am at my utmost need, to chaos and cold abandonment? Would the people that I love be wrenched callously away from me where I can no longer reach them? Would those forces that have ever turned misfortune to good and despair to hope disown me at the last? I think not. And neither will they forsake you. For I know that you perceive the many ways that your life has been blessed, the way that the stars have aligned when disaster was imminent. So whatever we meet when death at last leads us away, I think you can be quite certain that it will not be a blackness that greets us. And I do believe that Rose will await us, and your Gaffer, and my parents, and Bilbo and everyone we could hope to see. Remember Bilbo's stone, Sam, remember how his song began: _The road goes ever on and on_. I believe that he hit upon something more profound than even he knew when he first composed those words. We are all of us bound to the Road, the one Road where all paths eventually lead; the Road that stretches into forever. That is where we will meet; I am sure of it. And we shall be in good company, for what would such an important journey be without our travelling companions?" said Frodo, breaking out into a beatific grin as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam regarded Frodo steadily, could see the truth like liquid light in his eyes, could feel the profundity of his words as they seemed to hang about the room like unseen tapestries depicting all of the scenes from his life that he had described, and his heart was filled with love for his master whose wisdom burned brighter than any beacon and sang out louder than any song. So gladdened was Sam that he jumped up from the couch, and pulling Frodo up beside him seized him with both arms and lifted his feet right off the ground. The two of them laughed, and the sound was that of their triumph over despair, slicing through doubt and grief like sunbeams through storm-clouds. It was a laugh that would carry them through all of the days ahead and, at last, into the arms of forever.

And when forever came, Sam would be ready to embark upon the Road that had been laid before his feet. For wherever Frodo went, Sam was sure to follow.

XXXXX

**Author's Note: **Well, I hadn't anticipated trying to justify the ways of Eru to fanfiction readers (to play on a famous literary quote) but that is how the cards seemed to fall. This _feels_ like an ending to me, but I am not sure that I am ready to sign off on this fic just yet, so I won't definitively say that this is "The End." Depending on how the muse strikes me, I may return to this story and post additional chapters as I think of new story lines, or I might turn this series into a trilogy with a third installment. Then again, it might end up losing some of its impact if I do choose to continue onward, so maybe it's better left off as it is. I'd love to hear thoughts/opinions from anyone who might be reading as to what direction (if any) that you'd like to see the story go. It is bound to be more helpful than my hopeless vacillating and fruitless self-debating! And, as always, thank you to all of you who continued to read all the way through, whether you left a review or not.

**Updated Author's Note (as of Nov. 2, 2012): **I have made an executive decision to carry on with this story in a third fic, which has now been posted under the title "Where All Roads Converge." Please read it!


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